In My Blood
by Sapadu
Summary: X-over with Victor Decimus series, moved from crossovers. Running from his destiny with the Dark Side, the Jedi Prince finds himself stranded on a strange planet far away. Meanwhile, the vampire who loved Christ will be faced with a destiny of his own.  Warning: Strong language, heavy dark themes, implied sexual scenarios, and lots of blood.
1. Chapter 1

In My Blood

By Sapadu

A/N: Good God. It's another one of those 'Fanfictions I swore I would never write'. Which, if my other project from Brain Torture Central is any indicator, will probably turn out to be a great hit and a project I really like writing.

For starters, from the Star Wars side of things, if you check out my profile, you really should know by now which character I'm using for this one. Not any of the characters from the movies or the really well-known books. I'm using Ken, the Jedi Prince. But, in my defense, he's the only character that would really make this fic work.

And, in the opposite corner, this crossover is based on a trilogy written by Michael Schieffelbein, featuring Victor Decimus. If you haven't read those books, you should. They're actually pretty good, given the subject matter, and a nice, welcome change from all the Twilight mania going around. Just be warned that they're all very dark and twisted and on the shelves at Barnes and Noble's LGBT section. Thus, this fic is likely to be very dark and twisted. But probably not terribly sex-heavy or graphic.

Not much else to say except this whole story comes purely from my demented imagination after reading these two book series back-to-back, I claim no copyright, and I hope somebody enjoys this, if only for the sheer discomfort it's gonna cause me.

Chapter 1

Ken

When I woke up, face down on the soft, spongy ground, it was humid, hot, and the air palpable with water. The sky was thick with clouds and fog. Even though I was on dry land, I was soaked with sweat, my jacket clinging to me with perspiration. The air smelled like rotting plants, combined with a smoky smell of industrial plants churning from somewhere in the distance. I lifted my head, not seeing anything even remotely familiar. Even the trees looked like some bizarre creation from an insane botanist's lab.

The only things I did know were 1) I had crashed in the escape pod on this planet, though how I'd gotten out and where the pod was now, I couldn't figure out, and 2) I had no kriffing clue what planet this was. I didn't even know what star system or what sector it was. Had Miss Kendalina steered us further into the Unknown Regions, or had she taken us back to the inner rims of the galaxy?

Standing, I had a chance to survey myself. I had quite literally nothing on me – just the clothes I'd crashed in, a few scraps of flimsiplast, a pen, and various odds and ends in my pockets and... my hand hit something hard and bulky against my leg. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my lightsaber. And that was it. I didn't even have a spare credit chip with emergency money. I felt my arms and legs, checking for breaks or bruises. Nothing seemed wrong with me. I felt my head, making sure I had no concussions. There wasn't even anything beyond some mud in my hair.

In addition, I couldn't help but notice how much lighter I felt. For a moment, I wondered if I was dizzy or if I really had hurt myself before I experimentally jumped into the air. I went up by about half a meter, and that was without even really trying. It wasn't me – it was the planet. The gravity was different from any other planet I'd ever been to. I hadn't thought it was possible for a planet to be this noticeably smaller and still have enough gravity to hold in an atmosphere.

"Hello?" I called. My voice bounced a few times, at first loudly and slowly growing fainter. I could obviously still hear just fine, and there didn't seem anything wrong with my voice, "Kendal Orewahime, born in seven Before Battle of Yavin, Kessandra settlement on Kessel to inmate, Triclops and nurse, Kendalina, nineteen galactic standard years of age, former resident of the Lost City of the Jedi, apprentice to Luke Skywalker..." And I seemed to remember everything just fine.

All in all, things could have been worse. But there was nothing I could do about any of it. My best chance was to try and find some form of life on this planet and see if I could gather any information from that. I hid my lightsaber in the deepest pocket of my pants, relieved that it at least fit. If this was some planet where visitors were considered hostile, I wasn't about to announce that I was a Jedi right off the start.

I didn't have to go far. Just a matter of moments walking got me through a marsh, then onto the border of a city. It didn't look like any that I'd seen before. The walls of all the buildings were jagged, broken up into small pieces, and a dark red and brown color. Everything was covered in pieces of wood and painted boards, and absolutely nothing was evenly level. From the windows or the ground between the buildings, I heard voices shouting in a rough dialect that I'd sometimes heard from Captain Solo or Miss Kendalina.

Within the city limits, I could see even more movement and heard even more loud shouting and excitement. Most of it came from Humans with dark, sagging skin and black hair that swirled around their ears or under wraps on their jaws. A majority of them were women in white, shapeless dresses that billowed around their sagging knees. Others were children even younger than myself, some without shoes, some without shirts, even one chubby little girl with a pink ribbon around her head and a shirt that only just covered her diaper.

_Where are all the other species? Are Humans really the only sentient life on this planet?_ I was confused. Not to mention virtually everyone was staring at me. It was enough to make me wonder if none of them had ever seen another Human before. I even tried stopping a woman to ask for basic directions.

"Excuse me, Miss." A woman with an inky black face and a puckered jaw turned and gave me a disdainful glance over, "I'm just a little lost. Could you tell me where I am?"

"I say you is. What a boy like y'all be doing in this quarter?" She brayed before sauntering off with an almost pompous air. I blinked, completely taken aback by the response. Maybe I was wrong about the language here. Or was I mistaken in assuming these were Humans? Were they, possibly, Humanoids of some sort that were able to tell I was a completely different species?

Several more minutes took me into wider streets with not only more people, but vehicles speeding along on the ground. I noticed this one particularly after a large, box-shaped machine blared an alarm noise at me before turning onto the walkway. I was the last person to move out of the way, feeling the rush of air ruffle my hair as the vehicle went down one of the side streets I'd come out of.

I had to find a much more crowded street before a hunched over, wrinkled old creature with plastic on her head politely told me this place was called New Orleans. But by this time, I had come on a new problem entirely – on virtually every building, where signs would normally hanging advertising the name of the establishment, I saw unintelligible symbols. Some glowed, some flashed, some were simply pasted onto the windows of their residence.

_Oh, this can't be good. _Was the language completely different, altogether, or was it just the alphabet? I had to duck back out of traffic into a less crowded side street to collect myself and form a plan of action. If some inhabitants on New Orleans were so hostile towards visitors for not knowing where they were, then it seemed fairly reasonable that not being able to read might be equally as unusual.

_Well, the answer should be obvious. _I knew that much. I guess it was just my pride that stopped me from actually admitting it. _Use the Force. Just a little bit couldn't hurt. Not to just figure out where you need to go._

Where I needed to go was to a library. A library was a good, innocuous way of gathering information and keeping a low profile. The trouble was how to get there.

_Just a little push. You could trick someone into taking you there. You could just ask them any questions and have your answers._ And then what? Grabbing someone was bound to attract attention. And even if I could use the Force to lure them in on their own, two complete strangers talking in a side street would look suspicious and I didn't have enough control over my abilities to make any kind of mind trick look natural. All I could do was watch the various people going past me, trying to think of some way I could do this without using the Force.

My answer came in the form of a skinny old man pushing a wiry rack with wheels. He moved slowly and the bumps in the ground seemed to give him as much difficulty as if he were pushing up a steep cliff. Brown packages in the rack rattled and shifted, precariously. A little spark of inspiration hit me – one that I didn't need to use the Force to make this work. I stepped out, back into the flow of people.

"Sir, would you like some help?" I asked in the best helpful tone I could muster as I glided up behind the old man. He turned to blink his beady eyes at me. I counted three brown freckles over his right, stringy, white eyebrow.

"Thanks, sonny." I had to fight to keep my mouth closed, tightly, at the word. I'd had enough of being called 'kid' or 'son' or any other such noun when I was twelve. It was even more irritating coming from this old thing. With the best smile I had, I picked the rack up and started to push it through the crowd, the old man still clinging to it for support and talking to me about subjects I couldn't have remembered. He mentioned having children, I said How nice! He complained they never called, I replied That's a pity! He talked about the supposed aliens that had been spotted over the marshes last night, I said Oh, I see, and resisted the urge to correct his assumption. It grated on my nerves and the man's impossible quaver made my eardrums quake, but I continued to smile and nod. I had to make this guy feel willing to help me.

When I finally helped him up the steps to a slated, white building with squares of glass stuck on the front and sides, that was when I pressed the question.

"Would you be able to point me to the library?" The old man's right wrist trembled as he pulled a bright yellow piece of metal out of his blue pants pocket. He gave me a strange, half tilted head look, before pointing straight down the street to a building we'd passed a block ago. Still sweating with nervousness, I thanked him and tried not to run through the swarm of people towards the building. It hadn't answered my question of how to understand the letters, but it really didn't matter as far as I was concerned. Just getting out of the way was my priority, especially with the strange looks I kept getting from everyone.

Just like everything else, the library was a strangely low-built building. The front door was the only thing I really recognized, but all other features of the building were chunky and blocklike, and it made me feel like I was walking into a cinderblock to step inside. The lighting was the same, fluorescent blue like any star cruiser, and the floor a blue and gray linoleum tile. Instead of thin racks of files, there were large, clunky towers with oddly shaped volumes. Some had colors on their sides, some were thick, some were thin, some barely fit between the shelves and dwarfed others, and all of them had the same, strange lettering on their labels. There were barely any computers – only five, boxlike machines in a corner near an office with fogged glass in the windows.

I almost wanted to stare, except I knew that would draw only more stares, myself. Avoiding the eyes of a wide-eyed female Human pawing through a shelf of the volumes, I proceeded through the aisles. A children's section was bound to have some kind of alphabet learning tool. It was the only chance I had at finding some kind of translation, and I could work things out from there. The only other option I could think of was trying to persuade another person that I simply couldn't read this writing system and hoping they could translate the letters to aurebesh with me.

I did not see that last option going over quite so well.

Thankfully, I found a brightly colored section with a number of oddly shaped, minature chairs, obviously not intended for adults. After a few minutes of inspecting, I pulled out a piece that fell open, pieces of flimsiplast flipping between the bindings. Each page had one of the unusual letters on it with pictures accompanying it. Close towards the end, I saw a curved letter with a picture of a snake on the page, and on the next, a bar-like structure with a picture of a table.

After minutes of skimming the album and making notes on the flimsi in my pocket, I had almost all the alphabet and it's corresponding aurebesh letters noted. The only missing characters were the dipthong letters, but I supposed, with only twenty-six letters, the people on New Orleans probably got along just fine.

A guide to the letters in hand, I went for the computers, ready to look up any information I needed on this planet.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It had taken me several hours to work the computer – partly because of the keyboard being marked with all the strange letters that I didn't understand, and partly because the layout was so unusual compared to anything I'd ever seen. I did manage with a lot of hunt and peck, and I was immensely relieved that I hadn't made a stupid mistake by trying to use voice commands. But the end results had been even stranger. Each item I entered into the search box had lead me to an entirely new question, and every time I thought I had an answer, I realized that I didn't understand it fully and went back in, again.

My first idea had been to simply type in questions and look for the answers. The problem with that idea had been the results usually ending up as 'Take this online quiz, now!' screens that pulled up without my clicking on anything. My next strategy was to enter in the only name I knew about this planet and moving through pages, that way. Now, I had a few points specifically worked out:

1) New Orleans was not, as I'd thought, the name of the planet. It was, instead, a city in a province called Louisiana, which was a state in a country called America, which was in the northern hemisphere of a planet known as Earth. 2) The planet Earth was in a galaxy that I had never heard of with no record of coordinates. 3) The inhabitants of this planet had no concept of systems beyond their own – in fact, they all considered their planet to be the only one in space capable of supporting life. 4) There was no reliable means of space travel, and thus, no record of other systems or any maps that would give me a relative idea of home. 5) Humans were the only officially recognized sentient species on this planet. Non-Humans were either domesticated as farm animals or pets, or left in the wild, and there was absolutely no such thing as a non-organic creature on this planet – no droids, no creatures that breathed something other than oxygen, absolutely nothing.

Even more mind-boggling was that Earth wasn't even the classification of the society – it was the name of the planet, and nothing more. Actual societies had different names, different locations, different headquarters. I didn't think I'd ever heard of a planet which had multiple cultures and governments simultaneously operating. It was like stepping into a completely different era of societal evolution. They hadn't even developed hover technology, yet. Everything rested firmly on the ground, and all motion equipped vehicles traveled on wheels.

It was entirely too much for me to absorb. I was, very well and truly, lost. Not only was I stranded, but there wasn't even a means for me to even regain contact with any other planet. To these people, the entire galaxy I came from didn't even exist.

I didn't know how long I sat at the computer terminal, staring into the blue screen, completely unable to believe what I had just read. When I did return to myself, I started to frantically search for some acknowledgement. No star system could be this primitive – there HAD to be something that they knew of.

I typed in as many famous planets as I could. I found surreal, fantasy paintings that were nothing like the real thing. I entered in the Galactic Empire and the Alliance to Restore the Republic. The articles I found were all headed under an unusual title about 'Star Wars'. I ran a search on the Jedi Order. A screen popped up instructing me to use the arrow keys on the keyboard in some sort of game.

I failed to see the entertainment of it.

I even entered in the name Luke Skywalker. Somebody had to have heard of him. Instead, I was directed to the profile of an actor. For a moment, I almost believed I'd found something: he did look similar – the same hair, basic face shape, and body – but it wasn't the same. There were scars missing from his chin and forehead, his nose was the wrong shape, and his eyes were just utterly wrong: The wrong shade of blue, the wrong shape, missing all the specks and tints and shades that the real Luke Skywalker's eyes possessed. And the biography mentioned nothing of Tatooine, Anakin Skywalker, the war, the Jedi, or anything. It was as though the galaxy was a mere dream for this planet.

The last name I entered was Emperor Palpatine. Screen opened up several pages, and the first one I clicked on had these first few words: Palpatine is a fictional character and the main antagonist of the Star Wars saga.

I couldn't keep going. It was as though the words just refused to register. I could not, honestly just could not, believe I had read that. Fictional? FICTIONAL? The sole source of pure, concentrated evil; the being that had single-handedly destroyed our galaxy was a mere character in a story? I almost choked. I wanted to scream. I just could not believe that anyone or anything could be so ignorant, and an entire planet of people believed this.

For the longest time, I sat in that chair, eyes glazed over as I held in a scream. If anyone had so much as spoke to me, I don't think I could have restrained myself. But when I did sit back up and begin to think again, something entirely new occurred to me: If this planet knew nothing of the Galactic Empire, the horrible things it had done, and the monster the Emperor had been... maybe, just maybe... maybe it meant that nobody on this planet would care. If anyone found out who I was or where I came from... it wouldn't matter.

The next breath I took, I suddenly became aware of the unusual smell in the building – the smell of the air, this strange, alien atmosphere that permeated everything on this planet. It smelled unlike any kind of air I had ever breathed. It smelled like freedom.

Instead of getting out of my chair and just dancing with utter glee, I returned my attention back to my research. I was, after all, stuck on this planet, indefinitely. I had to find a place to stay, some way to blend in with the locals, and a means to feed myself. I was going to have to learn as much as I could about this planet before the library closed for the night.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The sun had set by the time I was through. My research had yielded much more ready information about residences for those without any income, about jobs, about the geography of New Orleans and the people who resided inside, and any other information I could have thought of for immediate use.

The most immediately useful information was that of names and ages. The planet Earth had a slightly shorter year than the galactic standard, and it's system of keeping time was broken into different lengths. Also, a name like 'Orewahime' would most likely rouse suspicion with any acquaintances – it didn't even match a name from some other language on this planet. Instead, I would introduce myself as Ken Gray. My supposed date of birth would be the fifteenth of March from the year nineteen eighty-four, putting me at barely twenty years old. I had lost my parents recently in a boating accident on the Mississippi and most of my memories along with it.

That was my story and I would stick to it.

I would need to stay at a shelter for homeless youth, but I didn't quite mind that prospect – compared to having to constantly run and hide, a cheap bed in a large common seemed refreshing. I'd be able to search for jobs in the morning, and return to the library for more research materials. Indeed, when I showed up at the gate of a gold and red bricked residence, the woman who let me in the front door was smiling in an almost anxious manner, even if she did give my clothes the same strange and confused look everyone else did. Maybe she assumed I was wearing second-hand from a parent or something. She jabbered at me with a rough accent that I barely understood, but I smiled and nodded at what I hoped were the right moments.

All of this, I'd managed without calling on the Force, once. I honestly thought I might just be happy on this planet, Earth. It was as though the shackle around my neck had broken, and with it, my connection to the galaxy and everything I'd run away from.

_It's only going to get worse. Just give it time, and it'll all come back to get you._ I tried my hardest not to think about it.

I promised myself, just before I fell asleep, that I would never use the Force again. It just wasn't worth it. And I would rather be an unknown face on this planet than the greatest Jedi in history, back home where it had done nothing but bring everyone misery.

Chapter 2

Victor

I impatiently rapped my knuckles on the bar. Everywhere was noisy and crowded, like it always was in New Orleans, but this place seemed especially so.

I had thought that New Orleans would at least distract me, somewhat, but it only seemed to punctuate my unhappiness. I missed Paul. The first few months, I had been so unbearably lonely, I hadn't even bothered with activity. I'd fed sparsely, only every dozen days or so, on cowardly teenagers who dared each other into the house I now haunted. It had been a whole season before I even left the house. Kyle had long since perished – fuck him, anyway, it was all he deserved for meddling in mine and Paul's affairs – and I had no desire to make any associations, anyway.

In time, though, my despondency had started to yield into that familiar vengeful anger I was used to feeling. I preferred being angry, anyway. I'd lived with anger for so much longer. I knew how to feel it. It was a fuel, a drive, a key that wound my gears. My first real, active month in New Orleans, I set out into the city and it's ghettos with a vengeance. Prostitutes, drug addicts, homeless bums, and anyone who walked alone, I'd follow and tear into their flesh with my fangs. Some of them were easy; most struggled, screamed, cried, and prayed. A month of that had been enough; enough that it at least made me feel better.

Paul would have been horrified. That must be why my rage lost its momentum so quickly. Now, I had resorted to a much more mundane existence. I had rules, this time. Not rules that anyone else had governed, but my own, and I kept them with the old pride of a soldier, the pride that I could discipline myself. I fed when I needed to, I ceased killing, and I kept the evidence completely away from me. I refused to be found and killed by humans after so long, but there was no way out of it. I was going to have an eternity of this.

I was going to have an eternity of hell on earth.

So, I mulled over an empty glass that I would never ask to be filled. I brought these into bars for camouflage, and no bartender ever asked me what I was having to drink or if I wanted another. A curvy girl with a mesh shirt over her bra slid into the seat next to me, hand on my leg.

"You alone, Mista?" She asked, voice thick with a slur. I could smell a heavy perfume from her neck, right where I saw her pulse throbbing like a tempting morsel, waiting to be bitten.

"Very." I replied, running my hand up her arm to the hook under her shoulder. The girl pulled out a slim, brown roll of tobacco and stuck it into an ivory cigarette holder.

"I got a car out back." Of course she did. But I had no desire to be caught by a patrolling state trooper as I fed in a back alley. That only caused me more trouble, and would eventually lead to suspicions, all over again.

"Would you mind somewhere a bit more private?" I put a hand around her back, right under a tattoo on her left shoulder blade. The girl smiled as best she could around the cigarette. A better gentleman might have lit that suggestive tobacco for her, but I was in no mood for games.

I was very rarely in a mood for games when I was hungry, these days.

"You got a place in mind?"

"My place. Neighborhood on the hill." I assured her, pressing on her back even stronger to follow me out of the bar. She came willingly. Most houses in the same neighborhood as mine were regarded as prime spots. The same pictures realtors used were also put on postcards and brochures for romantic getaway vacations.

I never saw it. All that I could see were the only residences in the entire city with decent basements.

Along the climb along the hill houses, that was when I felt the chill. I could tell, immediately, that it was something otherworldly – the sensation had been a stark contrast from the sticky, nauseating air of this southern city. I couldn't even understand what it was – I felt as though something was hovering over my head, watching me. I raised my eyes to the clouded sky over us. The girl took my pause in.

"Y'all heard 'bout them aliens, right?" She asked, and when I said I hadn't, I quickly learned, "They was on the news this morning. Some lights up in the sky last night and someone saw 'em land in the marshes. Ain't no creature'a God's, I tell you that."

I barely listened. It was one of the many modern obsessions that had never interested me, this fascination with what was beyond this planet. It never mattered what planet you could get to – if it was just a matter of how far, I didn't deem it worth my interest.

And, either way, death would be the same, no matter what soil you stood on.

I didn't have any silence until I stumbled the girl through the door of the house. Then, she immediately ceased to talk – either with resumed attention to her work, or with shock to the actual house. It didn't matter to me. One hand looped around her waist, pinning her arms. The other, I used to bend her head to the side, my fangs reaching for her jugular as though they were being pulled.

I only drank a liter or so before I withdrew and licked the wounds clean. The girl was limp in my arms as I limped back out and down the street with her body resting on my shoulder as though I were supporting a drunk. It was always this way with my victims – I drank enough until they would pass out and not remember a thing the next morning. I left her in the gutter near an alley. She would wake up and assume I had drugged her. I took care to be sure few eyes saw me, and any that did notice always looked the other way, no doubt drawing the same conclusions.

My throat now moistened and thirst, quenched, I returned to the house. My feedings usually lasted me a week, sometimes more, now that I did absolutely nothing during the night. Nothing sparked my interest, nor gave me any desire to leave the walls of my confinement. There had even been some nights, during the most memorable days of the year, when staying inside the house had felt more like protection from prying, human eyes than a cage.

I hid in the cellar during Mardi Gras and the Christmas and Easter holidays. Granted that the abundance of people in the streets would have made feeding much easier and getting caught much less likely during all the bustle and activity. But, in all honesty, it wasn't worth it. So much excitement reminded me of Paul, and all the religious, goodwill bullshit these people threw around reminded me even more painfully of Joshu.

These two reminders made me irritable, before making me wish I could walk out into the sunlight. But I didn't. I had to keep going. If the Fates were going to mock me with these reminders, I would go on, just to spite them.

Rather than remain at peace for the rest of the night, that chill returned. I found myself looking over my shoulder, even though I was against a wall inside the walls of my own residence. I knew why I was anxious – I had had my fill of unnatural forces meddling with my existence. Why would they be coming after me now of all times? I was doing nothing to provoke them, this time at least.

"Who's there?" I demanded, knowing that nothing but silence would answer me. There wasn't even so much as a breeze through the broken glass of the windows to stir any movement. Playing games with spirits and dark powers always made me edgy. There was no real way to confront them, not the way I liked to confront my enemies. But, if anything could console me, it was that they were all too cowardly to face me, directly. It made me wonder if it was because of my nature or some other inane rule of the Dark Kingdom.

And, of course, what could I do to stop them? If I could, this time?

I was grateful for the approaching dawn, but the blood splashing my insides churned with unrest as I returned to my coffin, still unsure what it meant.

A/N: I feel so filthy, now.


	2. Chapter 2

In My Blood

By Sapadu

Chapter 3

Ken

"Ken, where those pantses be at?" Called the warehouse manager. I didn't look up from the box I was loading, but I could hear him scratching his flat left buttock through his black jeans and cargo gloves. Before he could round the corner, I pushed the sleeves of my gray, cotton polo back down to my wrists. I'd strapped my lightsaber to my forearm, but rolled my sleeves up when nobody was looking. Otherwise, I sweltered in the heat.

"Bless you." Was my reply. I tolerated a certain level of crude language and ill-formed manners from other workers in the warehouse, but refused to acknowledge anyone who could not keep the word 'pants' in a singular plural. This was after two months on Earth, a full month working at this warehouse in the French Quarter.

Life on the planet Earth was not as difficult as I had first thought it would be. My first move had been to pass a test that earned me a credential called a GED, and the most difficult part of that had been writing or reading most of it – I still had difficulty with the Earth alphabet.

Still, a pass was a pass, and the factory owner didn't seem to care if a new face in one of his warehouses knew who the 17th vice president was. Combined with the fact that I was physically stronger than half the men, twice my age, I was at the front of the line when new hires came. I kept a schedule of working in the warehouse during morning shifts, spending the afternoons in the library, then returning to the shelter for some sleep before my shift started again at midnight. I kept my lightsaber on me at all times, both as protection and for the practical reason that there was nowhere at the shelter I could keep it reliably hidden. Besides, it was a comforting reminder to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

It still did not make dealing with the manager, Brode, any easier.

Brode was thick, hairy, and heavy-set, and got more of his warehouse work done by sitting in a forklift than actually pushing crates or lifting boxes. His skin was a pale brown with rounder, more claylike features than chiseled, sculpted points and clefts found in someone with fairer skin. I had quickly learned that, in New Orleans, the color of ones skin was considered to be a mark of their stature in life, and thus, other citizens would judge me by it. Apparently, that had been more the reason for any perceived or real hostility on my first day – none of the residents in the projects appreciated seeing a _cracker_ such as myself in their territory.

"Huh, huh." Brode laughed, humorlessly, "Now don't be sassin' me, boy!" I closed the lid on the box as I finished packing it, then lifted it with an ease that never failed to make Brode cringe.

"The boxes of pants are in the next aisle." I told him, shelving the box on top of the crate we would be loading into the truck. _Right where you told me to put them._ I refrained from adding. Brode grunted and stalked off, allowing me to relax. The bands around my arm cut into my skin when I held them over my head.

With Brode gone, another one of the packers that I worked with tossed me an armful of bubble wrap for the next box. His name was Marcus, and like Brode, he was thick and dark-skinned. The difference came in his packed musculature and sense of humor.

"G-man, you'se gonna get the fuckin' ax, you keep pissin' 'im off." Half the time, I didn't understand a word he was saying. I had, however, mostly discerned that _fuck_ was roughly the Earth equivalent of _kriff_. I was also learning about this custom of using improper words as addresses being a form of affection. It was called _nicknames_. I presumed Marcus' term for me came from the first letter of my supposed last name, Gray, with -man on the end to sound cool.

"I don't deliberately go out of my way to antagonise anyone, and I'm the most effective stocker that you have." I wasn't bragging – Marcus, himself had willingly stroked my ego after seeing me load an entire truck completely by hand.

"You'se gotta be the whitest white boy I know." Marcus laughed at me. That's usually what he did whenever I used particularly big words or complex sentences. I mostly assumed it was so he could save face for not understanding me, half the time, either.

"Thank you." _I guess._

Marcus, himself, had once lived in the same shelter I was staying at before completing a college degree and finding his way here. Thus, he had gotten particularly nosy about my personal life during my first week working here. All I could assume was he had a deep, personal bond with the place.

We always met each other half way when I went out for a jog in the afternoons, and he usually dragged me to various social functions after our shifts ended. That was fine with me, as I was trying to learn as much about this culture as I could, and it seemed fine with him that these functions were usually dangerous because it would beat the sissy out of me.

If it wasn't to a club or just wandering the streets and courting danger in back alleys, it would be to a gym for workouts and the occasional wrestling match. This I will admit; it never ceased to amuse me, the look on Marcus' face when I would load up the barbells and weight machines to their maximum weight, then proceed to do as many reps as time would allow.

"Jesus Christ, how'd y'all do that?" He asked the first time I did it. I was on my back with a single bar of aluminum resting in the weight holder. Each end was weighted with any dozens of pounds – I was still having difficulty with conversion to the metric system, so I didn't quite remember how much it was.

"I'm secretly from Jupiter." I teased. Even someone like Marcus would get the joke. He laughed without even knowing how close I'd been to dead serious.

The invitations usually came during working hours – mostly because I couldn't duck away and avoid Marcus while on the clock, so he knew he'd be able to guilt me into coming. I almost anticipated a new adventure for tonight. Sure enough, when five o'clock hit and all of us lined up at the punch clock for our dinner break, Marcus prodded me with his spear-like elbow between the ribs.

"Where to, this time?" I asked, before he even had the chance to run his spiel on me. Also to stop him from trying to poke me again – the first day, I'd had my lightsaber hid in one of my pockets and when he bumped it, I'd had to explain the piece of metal as a brace on my leg for an injury of some sort. Marcus flashed his porcelain white teeth at me in a grin.

"Bar one'na the guys found in the city. Might even be some white folks in there – you ain't gonna be lonely."

"I'm not old enough to drink, Marcus." It came my turn to slide my timecard in the punch machine. The time – 5:00:21 – appeared in a straight, black inked line on the yellowed timecard.

"Ah, ain't nobody gonna notice. Ain't nobody checks , this place." Marcus slid his card in as soon as mine cleared the slot. Not looking back, I went to the fresher to wash my hands before I went to grab any food. Marcus knew he'd won, and I never really knew how to politely turn anyone down.

I never knew how to do anything with other Humans. _That's what you get for being raised by droids, Ken._

Under the spray of the water in the sink, the grime, dust, and smudges from the day came off and painted lines of gray and brown and rust on the basin as the water swirled into the drain. My hands no longer ached the way they had on my first day. I had blisters on both thumbs and my left ring finger. The palms of my hands were chaffed with callouses, and the pads of my fingertips were smooth and red from the work. It had taken me a whole month of this job to get them like that.

Every inch of my hands burned and stung, but it was a kind of discomfort I was happy to have. It gave me the sense that I was truly accomplishing something in this kind of work, that I was earning my hard sleep at the end of the day, that it wasn't a pointless exhaustion. I was proud of what these callouses meant. Proud that they meant I wasn't _(weak) _dependent on someone else, anymore.

I rejoined Marcus at the cafeteria table. Just like everywhere in the warehouse, the room was lit by bare fluorescent bulbs that flickered like low fuel flames. Broken vending machines were along the wall, along with a dingy white refrigeration unit that we all stashed our lunches in. Marcus had an aluminum lined bag of chips opened, the scent of cheese and jalepenos drifting across the table and assaulting my sinuses. My lunch was a frozen dinner I bought from a petrol station just before starting my shift.

"Some cute girls at the place, too." He never acknowledged when interruptions came to our conversations. It made it hard to follow for me. And, even worse, I was never sure how to tell him that girls at a bar would be even more likely to deter me than attract me. The only thing I found comforting about it was the similarity it had to home – I had never dared mention my lack of interest in women back home, either.

_Especially not after THAT incident._

"If I say yes, will you stop talking about it?" I mumbled around a piece of still half-cold, breaded fish. Marcus grinned again. I could only assume that meant yes, "Fine. What's the worst that could happen?"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Remember what you said when Marcus wanted you to come, Ken? That bit about the worst that could happen? THIS is it!_ I could have kicked myself, except sitting on a barstool made it uncomfortable for me to kick anything.

Marcus had dragged me into this seedy, poorly lit pub, saying I would love the atmosphere. The air smelled like an engine whose oil hadn't been changed, two badly colored screens on the opposite wall showing a sport game that had most of the attention of the men at the bar. The floor was slippery, the stools and chairs were all uncomfortable and stained with spilled drinks, and the counter at the bar had something sticky all over it that made it stink. Marcus had proceeded to seat me at the bar, then go over and watch the sport on the screen.

I'd been here for two whole hours, hours I would rather have spent in the library or at least in some sort of constructive activity. There wasn't even anything I could learn about the planet's culture in this place. It was exactly like every other place Marcus had ever dragged me, which had been ample evidence of Human behavior. I didn't like repetition. It was now dark out, and I had wanted to get back to the shelter for some decent sleep tonight – the last week, I'd been having nightmares.

Unfortunately, I didn't know my way back to the shelter from here and Marcus didn't seem to be in any mood to give me directions. I'd taken to staring at my empty glass, not wanting another – Miss Kendalina let me have liquor, just once, to let me know how horrible it was.

"There's no such thing as a drinking age on Corellia, and if you're gonna see how bad alcohol tastes, you might as well have a taste from the good stuff." She'd said. It had been a single glass of Whyren's Reserve. Compared to that, any Earth liquor was plain mouthwash.

Still brooding, I started to examine the glass itself, tracing the designs made in the oblong cuts of the glass' surface. Nearly every corner of the room was reflected, somewhere, in the glass. I could see the flashing blue and green from the screens on the walls, the spots of people moving from table to table, every little move blurred and warped in the shape of the glass.

That was when something else caught my eye. I could see Marcus, standing on the edge of the crowd, head turned and talking to someone... who wasn't there. It really looked like Marcus was just talking to an imaginary friend a good several centimeters taller than him.

_Is he really THAT drunk?_ I wondered, turning to make sure my eyes weren't fooling me. In a second, I almost wondered if they had. There was somebody there – a tall, menacing sort of somebody. He had to be two-hundred centimeters, or at least close to it. He was built almost like _(Vader) _Mister Triclops had been, except without the severe gigantism: broad shouldered, heavily muscled, powerfully compact, and completely in black. His jaw was angular and sharp with stubble, his hair dark and tangled like the mane of a gundark, his eyes narrowed and black as _(Kadann's eyes) _the deepest pits of space.

And, it might have been just me or perhaps the lighting, but all the darkness in him just made his pale face stand out all the more. I might have even blamed it on the fact that he was standing right next to Marcus, if it weren't for something else. Something about this man had me on edge. It was as though a strange smell accompanied him, or there was a kind of magnet he had in his clothes that pulled on everything in the room. It was almost like _(Palpatine) _a powerful ruler, one whose reign was vast and well-acknowledged. Like how the people of Earth regarded Caesar or Napoleon.

And, as if that weren't enough, I realized I'd been staring when the stranger finished speaking with Marcus and looked at me. No, not just looked at me: Looked straight into my eyes. It made me jump, like scuffing my feet on carpet and touching a coin, or touching a hot stovetop.

Whatever it had been, I looked away as quickly as I could. _Yeah, like that isn't perfectly obvious._ I felt my hands shaking, and I didn't need any vision to know that man was now approaching me. Every sense I had seemed to heighten. The bar and the building slid away, everything preparing for this stranger. If it came down to it, I could at least feel my lightsaber pressed on the inside of my forearm.

_What if that's not enough?_ There was something strange about this man, and I couldn't help but wonder: What if a mere weapon, however unusual for this world, just wouldn't be enough? What if my extra-terrestrial strength couldn't save me? What if... _You have to use the Force. You can't get out of it, this time._

I was going to hurt Marcus, badly, for this.

Chapter 4

Victor

The chubby, blue-collar worker amongst the tables didn't interest me, beyond a potentially satisfying meal, until he mentioned the "Homeboy" he'd brought with him, sitting at the bar. I caught the boy staring at me, utterly amazed at the alluring creature that sat there.

What was most alluring for me was how completely different he appeared from everyone. I'd been to plenty of different locales, seen and killed easily hundreds of victims over the years. I knew facial features. I could see the brow of a Scot and tell it from a Londoner, the nose of a Roman, the chin of a Russian, the cheeks of a Frenchman, all of it. This boy, however, seemed to have features that I could not place, or if he did, they were accompanied by such radically different features elsewhere that it just didn't seem possible. His waving, brown hair curled around a sharp jaw that ended in a pointed, hairless chin. His nose was thin and long, but not hooked, and his eyes were a pure, steely gray and wider than any man's eyes I'd ever seen.

It all seemed so unusual that I didn't understand why more people weren't staring. And, while I found it attractive, that wasn't what drew my interest so much as that, the moment our eyes met, that chilled foreboding returned. It automatically made me alert, suspicious, ready for a hunt. What was he, if he could inspire such a reaction out of me?

He couldn't be another vampire if normal humans associated with him so deeply, and he was at the bar, drinking. A vampire wouldn't do that. I never did, at least, when it would mean vomiting the drink up later. Besides, he did have some color to his skin. Was he an agent of the Dark Kingdom, then? Some other creature that could threaten me? A vesper sent by a vengeful spirit of some sort?

I had to know, one way or another. I crossed the floor to the seat next to him.

For several long, quiet moments, the boy didn't even look at me. He simply continued to stare at his glass. It almost seemed like shyness, before I took a glance at the cup myself and realized he had noticed my lack of a reflection.

"Hi." I finally said, "Aren't you going to watch the game?"

The boy looked up from his glass again. There were so many other, tiny details I hadn't noticed about his face before, but they were all immediately overrun by the fact that I had the strangest sensation he was actually probing me as he met my gaze.

"Sports really aren't my thing." Even his voice sounded out of place – it was a strange mixture of accents between something from Irish and British, but muddled with the use of American dialects.

"Why not go home then? You're ruining the atmosphere for the guys." I tried. A distinct jab in my gut told me that he would see through the transparent lie as the attempt to learn more about him for what it was.

"I don't know the directions – Marcus drove us both here. I couldn't remember the streets he took if I wanted to."

"Get a cab, then."

"I don't trust the drivers around here. Besides, my last trip in a cab got me lost, then overcharged me."

Each word seemed charged to my ears. I somehow knew that he wasn't telling me the truth, or all of it, at any rate. I wasn't sure what it was that had me so on edge. Maybe it was how guarded he was. No human had ever been so cautious with me. Granted, most humans I spoke to had thought I was a monk, or had been woozy, drugged, or looking for a client in gaudy clubs and gay bars.

I tried a different approach. It had worked with Brother Luke and Father Andrea, as recorded in _Vampire Vow _and _Vampire Thrall_. Both of them had brought me unspeakable trouble, so I avoided using it, normally, but if I had to protect myself from a threat, I wasn't going to think twice about trying to charm this boy.

"When you say sports aren't your thing, what would you call 'your thing'?" I met his gaze again. The boy's eyes seemed almost silver in the light of the bar, more from his keen sense as he gauged me.

"Academic philosophy." Even the way he said it felt like a barrier. His otherwise soft voice was tinted with a defiance.

"Why such a heavy subject?"

"It's worthwhile. And it requires me to use my brain, instead of acting by habit."

"You find intellectuals to be your thing, then, is that it?" I didn't bother with keeping subtle – subtlety in connections with others only lead to problems. Those eyes flashed, briefly, before the boy smiled at me. It was an almost attractive look, except I could see utter disdain behind it.

"Among other things." He replied, "Professors, artists, pilgrims... all fascinating people."

I offered a natural smile, like the one I offered to prostitutes before I fed. I tried willing him to speak a little more freely. _What secrets are you hiding?_ To tell me something that could tell me what he was doing here.

"If you're such a people person, why aren't you over there with all the people in the place?" I asked. The boy raised an eyebrow. They were darker than the rest of his hair.

"Maybe they just aren't my type, over there." He replied, voice every bit as cool and ice-sharp as his previous answers. I willed him a bit more firmly...

...And was surprised to feel something prod me back. The subtle, quiet influence I could possess over human subconsciousness had been blatantly blocked. More than blocked, I'd been pushed back, stopped from touching him completely.

I found this significantly more alarming than any of the other previous indicators.

"What is your type, then?" I pressed, leaning in as close as I dared without drawing extra attention from the other bar-goers. He didn't even cringe.

"Someone very, very specific." This time, it was less coy with the edge of defiance and much more like a threat. I could smell a thin, almost fragrant musk raise from his neck, which seemed to poke out of the black and silver pinstriped collar of his shirt like a drunkard would raise a middle finger. The veins under his skin gleamed to my vampire sharp eyes.

"My name's Victor." I saw no point in lying, not when I was going to get rid of him, anyway. The boy raised his other eyebrow, giving him a very sophisticated, but also very intimidating look.

"From the Latin word meaning 'Conqueror'?" His question caught me off guard, but I didn't see any reason to deny it, anymore than lying out it in the first place, "Nice. I'm Ken."

I didn't offer a hand to shake. In New Orleans' heat, my cold skin would have been far too noticeable. Ken didn't seem to mind, as he had both his hands tightly clasped on the bar.

"I know the city well enough. Think you could find your way home if I got you to the right quarter?"

Ken's eyes remained as steel hard and unnerved as they had been through our whole conversation. There was no possible way he was fooled by my good intentions, yet easily slid off the bar stool and accepted. He lived in the French Quarter. Not even two miles from Mid City, less than a stretch for my own strength and endurance. We walked easily a whole mile along the busy Canal Street for most of it before a necessary turn came onto the side streets, towards the proper quarter.

It was under a highway bridge near a cemetery that I finally had Ken alone. My fangs descended, his slim, pale throat practically irresistible. I hadn't fed for two nights, but the scent of his blood made me want to pin him under the bridge, want to strip him to the skin and mount him there, want to sink my fangs into his chest and suck him dry. It would pain me to destroy such a beautiful specimen; maybe I could take the usual amount and hope he forgot. I wasn't sure – I could never be sure exactly how much my victims really did forget after I fed on them, just that it was enough to save me from exposure.

At the fence, I grabbed Ken's arms and threw him against the chain links. He wrenched his arm back and out of my grip, before I brought a hand up to his throat. His pulse hammered against my fingertips, but his face was perfectly still, as if he'd been expecting this. I parted my lips, and pressed against his, savoring the taste before a powerful blow hit me in the ribs and made my torso shudder. It was almost like a mortal bullet, except in the size of a fist. I gasped for air, and Ken's fist came up to my face, sending me reeling.

The pain was over in a second, but it had been brief enough that Ken had pushed me away and was retreating, still watching with apprehension. With a vampire's speed, I lunged again, but Ken was ready for me, now. Something was in his hand before I saw a flash of bright light that almost made me wonder if day had come. Before I could even see what it was, a searing pain rent through my shoulder and made me collapse. Unlike any other injury I'd ever taken when hunting, it burned and persisted and blinded me with so much pain that I barely even noticed the fence rattling as Ken escaped.

Heaving with nauseous pain, I glanced at my shoulder, only to see there was a burnt stump where my arm had been. The limb lay a few feet away, it's end also scorched as though burned in a white hot flame. Hand trembling, I picked it up and sighed in relief, then agony, when the wound started to heal with the same speed a bullet wound closed. I had to remain on the ground, breathing heavily for several moments before I looked up and saw that Ken had vanished, completely. Even with a hunter's sense of smell, there was no trace left of him.

I got to my feet, true disturbance making me uneasy. He'd seen me in a state ready to feed, now. There was no hiding it, and I had to find him. One mistake; one simple, foolish mistake, and it had cost me my anonymity. I would have to find this boy and silence him, before I was exposed. And before that unnatural power that had enabled him to overpower me led to my destruction.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

My chest was heaving as I came to a halt outside the bar. I had no way of tracking Ken, personally, now that he was completely gone, but I did have a way to find out enough to trace him. The beefy, black man Ken had called 'Marcus' was still inside, enjoying himself with the American football that played on the disintegrating television screens.

I didn't mind – I could wait, however impatiently.

When I heard the final, loudest cheer from inside, I slipped around to the parking lot and hid under the appropriate vehicle. I knew it was his – the same smell of heavy sweat and greasy fabric radiated from inside. As expected, in a few moments, I saw the bar empty of it's patrons, all headed for their cars. With a quick swipe from my nails, I punctured the first tire, knowing it's repairs would give me time to make my move in private.

Overhead, I heard Marcus curse, then the creak of the trunk opening as the other cars started their engines and growled, squeaked, or purred out and away. In the next moment, a jack was braced against the underside of the car and hoisted it up. I saw the man's shining, round face appear as he looked under his car.

"What the fuck?" He more growled than shouted as my hand lunged out and grasped him by the vocal chords. His hands flailed as I pounced and pinned him to the pavement, but no sound came from his throat. With concentrated ease, my fangs descended and I sunk them into his jugular, slowing his frenzied movements, then willing his body to relax, completely. I siphoned off a full liter, then pulled him up and pressed my hand against his throat. He would reawaken in a few hours, then give me some clue to where I should start looking.

I even changed the tire, I was so anxious to be unencumbered by delays.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It was almost midnight by the time Marcus reawakened. I had broken the bolt of the door to the backseat and hid myself behind the driver's seat, awaiting the journey. Outside the car, I heard another burst of swearing, then the clatter of him getting into his car and starting it up. I held myself in place through all the jerks and swerves, only looking up when I heard the engine switch off.

Cautiously peering out the window, I saw the outline of a large, one-story building, illuminated by streetlights and racing cars from the street's intersection with Canal. With vision that could pierce the darkness, I could see other cars on the curb and people streaming from them. And there Ken was, waiting for Marcus right outside the door. I saw him look straight at me before I ducked back down and waited for him to either approach the car or tell a security guard.

Neither happened. Instead, I could hear his faint conversation with Marcus:

"Marc, what happened? You cut yourself, shaving?" He was even providing a completely implausible lie for the puncture marks on the other worker's neck. I really didn't believe it. But that was all I heard of the conversation before my prey disappeared inside the doors. I couldn't attack, now – to do so would mean having to attack even more people, possibly have to kill them. I couldn't run that risk.

Instead, I waited. Finally, dawn came close to approaching. I had no choice but to sneak out and fly back to my tomb, the blood splashing in my bowels cold with dread. The hunt would have to continue, another night.

Chapter 5

Ken

Marcus didn't really need much of a beating from me, not after I saw the puncture wounds on his neck. I could guess those came from Victor – he must have drugged Marcus, which would explain his apparent amnesia – and induce a vague reason why Victor would have attacked Marcus, but left him alive.

I was a witness, but more importantly, I'd survived. I wasn't going to kid myself – I knew that it put a mark on me. The real question was why he'd perceived me as threatening enough to want to attack me in the first place. The mere memory of what he'd done, just trying, was enough to give me shivers and make my muscles _(remember) _quake in anticipation of what it would have been like.

_You ARE a threat, Ken. That's why Kadann and the Prophets..._ But I didn't want to think about that, either. It wasn't a legitimate reason, not on this planet. But, again, I didn't even belong on this planet. It was possible that he'd seen straight through my camouflage and considered that enough of a threat. But even that didn't really make sense. It made about as much sense as a Coruscant native attacking a visiting Corellian, just for not being born on the right planet.

When I punched out from my shift at noon, Victor was no longer lurking in the back of Marcus' car, waiting. I didn't let my guard down. Instead, I headed for the gym for a workout. The consistent, repetition of the motions and the strain of my muscles against the planet's miniscule gravity cleared my mind and fed my brain a steady stream of adrenaline. It didn't help me contemplate the why, but it did give me a plan of action for the next time I saw Victor.

I knew there would be a next time. Running from bounty hunters and crazed, Imperial warlords had taught me plenty about the persistence of people when they wanted someone dead.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I finished my workout by two, along with formulating my plan. It made my head spin to think what I would have to do, not to mention how it might affect anyone else, but it was all I had.

First, I had to find out who Victor was. I knew virtually nothing. If I was going to defend myself, that situation had to change. I did know that he knew where I worked, and thus, he probably also knew where Marcus worked, who my coworkers were, and how he could find any one of us. But then, why would he leave, and when had he left during our shift?

I didn't know, but I could be certain he would be back. Probably at night – that was the best assumption I could make, since it would draw him less attention under cover of darkness. So, I would need to watch him and perhaps follow him back to wherever he lived.

There were two parts of this problem, both of which I had a solution for: staying off my shift long enough to watch Victor, and being unobtrusive enough that he wouldn't know it was me.

The first was easy. I called the supervisor at the warehouse as soon as I got back to the shelter and said I'd pulled a muscle during my workout. A back injury would give me time to recover, and I could use that to spy on Victor when he thought he was stalking me. The supervisor didn't question me any further, except to ask how severe and how long it would be before I could come back. I told her two days – just in case.

The second was not so easy. I would have to somehow disguise myself, and also be sure I knew where Victor was at the same time. The street the warehouse was on didn't necessarily have heavy traffic – actually, it was kind of a minor path during the night hours, given that Canal Street was the main attraction. Still, it had enough people that passed through to give me a chance to blend in.

That was what really made me curious with Victor: He hadn't just wanted me in a secluded spot, he'd deliberately pulled me to a place where absolutely nobody would have come across us. I'd seen my share of pickpockets in the city, even a few much more violent crimes. Those men hadn't cared so much about not being caught at all, but just limiting who saw them. They only worried about anyone who might report them. Other criminals, nobody cared who saw them.

Victor had been different. He'd wanted nobody but nobody to see him. Not even a fellow rapist or murder. Why?

Whatever the reason, I knew that, as long as there were a few more faces on the street, I would have some cover and some safety.

The question was what cover. Automatically, I knew a disguise would be the best route, but what disguise, and how would I do it? I had to first find my way into a drug store and make a few selections with make-up and bandages that would cover my face. But that still didn't seem like it would be enough – even if I perfectly applied a whole different ethnicity to my face, anyone would be able to tell it was me. Especially if they were looking. And Victor would be looking.

"Change?" I almost tripped over a man with gray hair matted all over the front of his face. He was hunched over on the sidewalk, holding out a styrofoam cup and rattling the few coins he had inside, "Ya got any change?"

On reflex, I dug in my pocket and pulled out any coins I had in there, not even looking to see what I'd dropped in. I went a few paces before something occurred to me. Curious, I turned around and saw the old man wrapped up in a thin, wrinkled beige coat that went all the way down to his knees. It was the most perfect cover I could think up.

"Hey." I said, walking back a few paces and stripping off my own, thickly lined jacket. The man with the coin cup turned his head back in my direction, "I'll trade you."

He didn't think twice before pulling off the old thing and gratefully covering up in my jacket. My nose rebelled at the unwashed scent of the coat, but I stuffed it into my bag. I'd need it for tonight, and then I could throw it out if I wanted.

I went back to the shelter to sleep until the sun started to go down. I was going to need it for tonight.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The sky was still a burning ochre and red when I got up that evening. By the time I'd gotten down to the street outside the warehouse, completely done with my disguise, the timepiece read nine and there was barely any red in the setting west. I'd dirtied my overall complexion, added sunspots and a few moles, combined a cherry lipliner with some rouge blush to make a convincing burn mark over my left cheek, and put heavy gauze on one wrist, three left fingers, and my head, covering my hair.

Combined with the bum's coat and plastic garbage bags wrapped around my legs, I didn't even recognize me. And I looked perfectly at home, sitting on the corner, waiting for Victor to appear.

I just didn't understand how he could blend in with the crowd so well. To my eyes, he poked out like a wampa on Tatooine. He was just so... so different from all the other Humans on this planet. I don't even think it was something he did on purpose, it just sort of hung about him. Victor had a kind of good looks about him that seemed so spot-on that they just couldn't have been natural. Even in holodramas, nobody was as well-formed as he was.

And there was his air, his manner. The swagger he walked with was exactly like any other self-assured man on the street, but it was like his footsteps echoed to the umpteenth degree, or as though he pushed even more of the atmosphere around him out of the way than any other living creature. I'd even go so far as to say that he almost acted like he was a deity in Human shape, and he knew it with every motion he made.

Frankly, the comparisons I drew from him made me too disgusted. If I didn't see so much of so many other, horrible people in my galaxy, I might have even found him attractive.

Victor didn't notice me as he swept past, onto the side street. He walked slowly, very casually, but with a metered stride that seemed to calculate when I was supposed to show up for my shift. The shift I would never appear for.

It seemed like an eternity; Victor calmly and confidently cornering the building as he waited for midnight and the start of my usual schedule. I saw the traffic on Canal Street slow to a trickle, a car or two passing every moment or so and the people dying down to kids out breaking their curfew or couples taking impromptu walks. Two more bums sat up and down the street, giving me at least a little company, before the first few cars showed up. I saw the usual workers pop out of their vehicles, waving to each other and exchanging the usual manly shows I saw them dish out before we all would punch in. Victor had picked a remarkably casual place to stop – right next to me – to pull out a cigarette and fumble for a lighter. He didn't even make a real effort to find it; just enough to look like he was.

That was when I realized what he was really doing – over the noise in the background, I could hear him breathing in, deeply, through his nose. With a glance up, I could see his nostrils flaring.

_Sithspit, he's SNIFFING for me!_ I resisted the urge to sniff myself. Would the bum's coat be enough? I had as many foul-smelling, garbage dug pieces on me as I could. That should block my smell enough, but I almost felt like it was tempting fate to count on it.

"Change?" I asked, slurring my words into the best possible imitation of a Louisiana accent I could muster. It was apparently enough, as Victor glared down his even nose with deepest contempt, then stalked off, crumbling his unlitten cigarette as he paced the street again.

Midnight passed and slowly turned to one. He was still walking his casual line as though simply waiting would make me appear where I was supposed to be. He even passed me a second time, when I held out my hand again for change.

This time, Victor snarled at me. It didn't startle me so much as I suddenly realized his teeth were all in the wrong place. He had canines that looked twice the length of his normal teeth, and they gleamed, unnaturally, in the streetlamps.

My brain flashed the image through my mind, not from this but from last night. I'd thought I had imagined his teeth being so abnormal, that it had been a trick of the light or something. After all, when we'd spoken at the bar, they'd been straight and even and normal. But no, they were real. And something very different than any other Human on this planet.

Was he even Human? Was he a Humanoid species this planet didn't recognize as sentient? Or was he...

Was he like myself? Hiding on this planet, for some reason?

Each minute seemed like an hour, ticking slowly by as I saw Victor check his chrono, over and over again. His calm stroll had turned into an impatient pace, but still markedly not moving from his spot on the street.

_What if he decides to take someone else, instead of you?_ That was a worry that had me just as uneasy as any other threat in this situation. I could take care of myself, but what if Victor wanted me silenced so badly that he would be willing to go through other people to get me out in the open?

_More people are going to suffer because of you. It's all going to be on your head._

It wasn't a happy thought, and I was even more unsettled by the idea that it was true. I spent the entire night watching Victor pace, worrying about one of the other men in the warehouse. Plenty of them were smokers – if one of them came out to feed their addiction, Victor could grab them and drag them off somewhere to do whatever he did in private.

But, at almost four-thirty in the morning, nothing had happened. I saw Victor look towards the east, then pull his collar up and stalk off, onto the next street. Cautiously, I got to my feet and started forward, crossing the road and keeping my eyes on the gaps between buildings. I could see Victor striding well ahead, passing alley by alley until there was finally one that was abandoned.

I saw him climb straight up the side of the building and take off into the sky, like a combination of a vulture and some massive bird of prey.

Any doubt I could have had that he wasn't Human vanished in that moment.

I pulled the coat off and stuffed it into a dumpster, putting speed on my own feet as quickly as I could. Between Victor's dark shape and the glow of the street lamps polluting the night sky, I could barely see him. Still, I guessed it made sense that he'd be cautious when there were other people. The only thing I could do was chase, hoping I didn't lose sight of him.

And that he didn't decide to look back and notice someone trailing him from downwind.

The chase finally ended in a completely different part of the city. I hadn't even noticed where I was until I looked up to see that, instead of offices, apartments, and housing projects, I was in a neighborhood of houses that led up a gently sloping hill. I had to drop into a shrubbery just as Victor descended from the sky and glanced around. I don't know if he could see me or not – it was too dark on the street, but he seemed to know where he was as though it were midday. If he did see me, he didn't give any sign of it. The next moment, he'd unlocked the door to the house he'd landed before, then disappeared inside. I didn't see any lights come on.

Within the next ten minutes, the eastern sky began to lessen in darkness. It's pitch black steadily grew to a bluer and bluer gray, before a rose colored streak ran through the clouds and a bright warm gleam crept over the horizon.

I checked my chrono. It was five in the morning.

So, Victor had come to stalk outside the doors at my job, wait for me to show up, pace around outside for a while, then leave as soon as dawn came? Why? He had to know I worked a twelve-hour shift; all warehouse jobs were like that. Why couldn't he wait to ambush me at noon, when I was bound to get off? There had to be a reason, unless...

Unless...

_Unless he can't._ What if he couldn't be out in the sunlight? Both times I'd seen him, it had been the dark of night. I had to sit and stare at the blank and apparently empty house for several long moments before my thoughts collected themselves.

With a clearer idea of what I was looking for, I pulled myself out of the shrubbery and began to walk down the street, looking for some direction to get back to the shelter. I wanted to get, at least, a little nap in before the library opened and I could do some thorough research.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_You know that saying 'Be careful what you wish for', Ken? THIS is what they're talking about._ The search I'd run on 'Non-human that flies, can't go into sunlight, and has fangs' had given me several links with the same word over and over. I'd even printed out one page and rewritten it by hand in aurebesh, the word made so little sense to me.

Vampire. What in the Krethin Hells was that? According to the articles, it was a Human who, for some reason or another, came back from the dead and sucked the blood of living Humans by night before returning to it's coffin and hiding from the sun during the day. They were supposedly repelled by crosses, garlic, and holy water. Mirrors cast no reflection, supposedly, because they had no souls, and only a stake through the heart could kill them.

_This is the DUMBEST thing this planet has thrown at me, yet. Well, second to that invisible man in the sky controlling everything._ It was all I could think.

What disturbed me even more was that I wasn't sure what I found even lower on the intelligence scale: Some of the absurd cures, kills, and stories surrounding these creatures, or that people didn't even think they were real. The Anzati feed on the blood of other species, and so did the Yevetha. There were some forms of non-Humans which couldn't maintain under the radiation of their stars, so they had to be nocturnal or subterranean by nature. Even on this planet, plenty of creatures that were able to fly and more than enough creatures that could change features, such as retractable fangs, at will.

Did nobody on this planet have any common sense? Then, I remembered reading that many Earth societies still believed that Humans had been formed from the soil under their feet by a deity. It didn't make me think any higher of the collective intelligence, but it did put their ignorance into perspective.

Instead of returning to the shelter, I went for a walk. I wasn't even sure why – I just couldn't sit still anymore. Besides, they weren't expecting me at work, that night. So, I went out into the city.

There was so much about Earth that seemed unreal, compared to most planets I'd been to. New Orleans seemed to be the epitome of those differences. Within a matter of blocks, the streets went from populated, up-kept, and healthy to battered, haunted, and mistreated. Some had windows with glass and doors with a painted finish, others had metal bars and grills. It was as though it were a different city entirely.

The Humans were different, too – I couldn't quite say why, but it was something with all the features I saw. They all seemed... a completely different circle. It was like a subspecies of Human that just hadn't branched out into other cultures. Almost everyone had similar skin tones and shaped features. Or, when they weren't the same as those around them, they seemed to belong to a different group, entirely, with the same features as theirs. Any men with big noses always had flatter cheeks, squared jaws and heavy chins, while any with thin noses all had hooks in them, then mostly rounded features.

Nobody really seemed anxious to talk to me. Nobody on this planet ever really did. That was fine by me – I really wanted to think, rather than talk.

And think I did, right into the late afternoon. I thought about the bizarre architecture of this planet as I paced between the brick buildings and wood slated houses. I thought about the unusual foods and the plants and animals they all came from when I stopped at a walk-in to get a sandwich for lunch. I thought about the different mixture of air with water as I breathed it in, and the pH of the soil when I sat down under a tree.

It was so far off from home. I didn't think I could ever grow tired of this, learning all about the different places and people on this single planet. The galaxy seemed so small compared to this tiny place.

I was thinking so much that, by the time I jolted out of my thoughts, the sun was already going down. I could have laughed.

_Waste a whole day on just wandering around and THINKING. THAT'S productive._ Feeling foolish, I got off the bench and started to pace through the crowd, trying to remember the way I'd come that would take me back to the shelter.

Chapter 6

Victor

I didn't sleep at all in my tomb, that day. I remained inside my casket, yes, but it was restless and uneasy, and I wasn't asleep for a moment of it. When I crawled out at nightfall, I was exhausted and worn, and the fact that I was shaking with hunger made it even more acute.

After rinsing my face with water and pulling on a sleeveless turtleneck and jeans, I went out into the city. The previous night had been frustrating. I'd wasted the whole of it waiting to catch Ken at the doors to his workplace, all for nothing. I'd only barely made it back to my tomb before the sun rose, and I still had only one piece of information on him.

Even worse, I knew Ken had spotted me when I trailed him to the warehouse. The way he'd looked at me, then not called attention to me seemed too perfect. It was too easy. Almost as though he'd deliberately let me go, knowing it would be more interesting this way.

Interesting was one thing, but I did not care for the suspense and alarm.

It was a busy night, one that had every street in the city crawling with activity. I could find nobody alone. That didn't mean much – I could probably lure a hooker or maybe even an addict desperate for a fix back to the house and feed there. But I was too hungry, too impatient, too tired...

Too obsessed with this boy to keep focused. I didn't recall any time that a single person – or, at least, a person I saw as prey – kept me fixated. I didn't know how he'd been able to protect himself, I didn't know where he came from or what he was, and all of it made me want to know, more than ever.

There was also the fact that I still had this tingling in my nerves. Yes, many of my previous starts had been complete false alarms, but I'd seen enough to know that Ken was no idle threat, if he chose to ever find me. It was the same disquiet I'd felt when I started to fight the Dark Kingdom for my existence with Paul, only a less direct sense, as though the forces didn't know what they wanted from me.

I paced my way into the inner streets of the French Quarter, looking for something that could give me a hint. I didn't even know where to start, or if there was a place to start at all. What guarantee did I have that this boy could be tracked and caught? How could I even be sure he was human at all?

"Oops." I practically tripped over a young man in a dark gray button-up, "Excuse me."

I had to grip his arms to stop from falling over, before I finally noticed. It was Ken. He'd had his head down right up until then, and I hadn't even noticed him in the crowd.

The boy's eyes went wide, as though he'd realized that he'd bumped into me just as I was contemplating hunting him down. I'd let go of his arms and he backed up, following the flow of the crowd, but neither of us looked away from each other for the longest of minutes. It was only when he turned his back on me to walk quickly in the other direction that I realized how close I'd come.

If I hadn't let go of him, I might have been able to dispose of Ken, right then and there. But I had. Why? It wasn't even in my nature to show that kind of basic courtesy to humans in this city. What was it that made me loosen my hold, almost even respect him?

I didn't stand there, pondering: I took off, following the mop of hair I saw poking out of the crowd. Ken was making his way through a practically impossible flow of people, most of whom didn't even seem to care that there was a boy being pursued by a creature such as myself. I didn't care – I was fixated. I was being drawn in, as though merging with a lover that wouldn't let me go.

It almost would have made sense, except I didn't even understand what pulled me to him, yet made me want to destroy him at the same time. I found him appealing, but it was as though I could sense he was only attractive as bait, as a trap. Still, the part of my mind that understood things logically told me that I'd felt the same way before, and it had been just paranoia. I wasn't even sure what I planned to do when I caught him: Kill him, or fuck him.

_Or both._ It would certainly be the best of both worlds.

Ken turned into one of the alleys. I had to push some old cripple out of the way to dodge down the nearest one and trail after him. By the time I'd come out the other end onto a different street, Ken had taken off, running. I started up after him, not caring if I pushed someone over. It seemed unreal, but the boy was actually running seriously enough to force me to something beyond a normal jog.

Down another side street, then up the steps of the French Quarter Visitor Center. Even at night, the place had plenty of people – I could have picked a child from his mother and taken him home for a meal, but I didn't. It was as though the world had narrowed down to myself and Ken, my need to catch him and his need to run away. There was almost an excitement to the challenge, to the fact that I was restricted to my feet instead of flight, to the fact that Ken was actually fast enough that I really did need to chase.

It got my mind reeling, as though my pulse was actually pounding once more, and it turned me on.

I cleared the hedge in the center of the pavilion, only to see Ken pelting across the trolly tracks. He was headed for the river. I understood – he was planning to hide there, since the water would wash away his scent, and I wouldn't be able to rely on sensing any body heat. And, if he got far enough out, I wouldn't be able to see him beneath the surface.

"Stop that boy! He's going to jump!" I called ahead. I wouldn't be able to reach him in time. An older woman walking her dog started as Ken bolted past her and hurled himself over the railing on the sidewalk. All the stupid bitch did was stand there and scream. I finally ran up against the rail, but more than enough of a crowd had gathered around, all staring over the railing and talking among themselves. The brown, septic water below churned like a waterfall, absolutely no sign of Ken even visible.

I ground my teeth with frustration. Everyone else who had seen him was muttering and fussing over a suicide, but I knew better. Any other human, I would have dismissed them for dead immediately, but Ken was something else, entirely. He probably could swim and hold his own against the current of the Mississippi, and even if he couldn't, he was probably clever enough to hide on the underside of a riverboat.

But he had stopped me from catching him. I couldn't just dive in after him – with this many people, I'd be noticed, and then...

I had to give the boy credit; even the most random act to avoid being caught had been carefully planned and timed. And I couldn't even wait for the crowd to clear – everyone had seen him jump, and I'd called attention to it. Police would be here, inspecting the suicide sight until dawn. I didn't have the time.

Employing some choice Latin swear words, I turned back to stalk off when I saw a flash of silver on the ground. It was a pendant of some sort – a chain like American soldiers wore their identification tags on, but miniscule, designed to be practically invisible – with a perfect half circle of pure silver hanging from it.

_Girly necklace for a boy like him._ I observed, holding it up. It didn't even seem like normal metal – it was more like a piece of glass with a sheen of silver inside it, put it was clearly something other than glass. Was it supposed to be a mirror? Was it supposed to be similar to dog tags? Or was it something else?

I clenched my fist around it, then shoved it into my pocket. I'd see Ken again. Next time, I would be prepared.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It had been a long time since I'd had a vision of Joshu. Not since his last jab at me when I left Georgetown. It had almost been a year. I couldn't even believe that.

He hadn't changed a bit. Neither from the visions nor the memories I had of him. I passed St. Louis cathedral and found two punks beating up an old man in the alley. They left after mockingly pissing on the man's bag, then took his wallet.

_Even in front of your own holy grounds. How is this the peace you preached, Joshu?_ I dragged the man further into the alley and fed, almost gagging after just half a liter of his bitter, alcohol muddled blood.

When I staggered out of the alley, I saw him. Nobody else was around, but I doubt it would have made a difference. Joshu only ever appeared before me like this – swathed in that damned robe of his, blood running down his brown face from the punctures in his forehead and staining his wrists and feet from the stigmata.

"Victor, this isn't what I wanted for you." Just hearing his voice made me shake, inside. Whether it was with joy or with a newfound fury, I didn't know.

"What you wanted for me? Still with that heaven of yours? Isn't that what you wanted for me?" I snarled. Joshu shook his head, sadly. My hands ached to reach out and grip him, and I wasn't even sure why.

"There's still time, Victor."

"Time for what? For me to follow you and spend the rest of eternity on my knees? Fuck that!"

"Time for you."

"I DON'T WANT IT! You can have that pious eternity all you want! I don't care, anymore! I NEVER WANTED IT!"

Joshu was silent. I was too angry to be concerned. It had been two-thousand years like this, with visions of him appearing before me and saying I could still be saved, still go to his heaven somehow. His heaven of sterility, of static, of bland, motionless rest for eternity.

"You're in danger." His voice echoed across the street as though we were in a church. It only made my blood boil.

"I fucking know that! I don't need you for that brilliant revelation!" I shouted back. I wasn't even sure why I was shouting, anymore.

"I just don't want to see you lose your chance, Victor."

I couldn't take it anymore. It was as though a swollen blood vessel had finally burst, all of my rage spilling out. I spun on my foot and grabbed a rock from the ground. I didn't care anymore – I could either love him or I would hate him, and I couldn't love someone who would spout this holy bullshit at me every moment I saw him.

"Godammit, Joshu!"

When I straightened, Joshu was gone. My rage vanished, and my mind cleared. I dropped the rock, unbelieving that I'd been so close to actually trying to hurt Joshu. In all these years, it had always been a religious mission, a quest to tear apart his order... but never to actually attack him, personally.

Unable to stand still a moment longer, I fled to my coffin and shut myself up, not even caring that it was long before dawn.

I didn't sleep at all. My mind was still running in full speed, contemplating the various futures that could await me. This boy, Ken – I slowly found myself hating him for appearing in my world and causing me such misery. I hated him for pushing me to the point that I would contemplate throwing a stone at Joshu's apparition, I hated him for reminding me of Michael, and of Paul, I hated him for being so elusive.

I think I might have even hated him for being so fascinating. It was something so unusual that I didn't even know what I was going to do. That day, I spent the entire time awake, contemplating how I would deal with him when I finally did catch Ken.

First thing I would do was feed. Just thinking about that pretty throat of his made my stomach churn with hunger and my groin throb with excitement. Once I managed to feed, I'd be able to do what I pleased with him. The problem would come with that weapon of his – I still wasn't sure what it had been that had sliced my arm clean off, but it had disturbed me.

_Like a flaming sword._ The possibility had occurred to me that he was not a natural human. That he was something much closer to divine than I'd thought at first. On the other hand, if it was just an unusual kind of weapon, now that I could predict it, I could gain an advantage. On some level, the idea of having to wrestle with someone my equal in strength was arousing.

_And then what?_ I still didn't know what I wanted to actually do with him. Finish him off? Flee? I couldn't count on being able to manipulate his will to serve my purposes – he'd stopped me the first time I'd tried that. It would have been safer to destroy him, but my sense of aesthetics balked at the idea of ruining a specimen like him. On the other hand, I couldn't count on the usual amount of blood to take his memories – if he could resist a vampire's strength and hypnotic suggestion, who knew what else he could do.

Maybe he could be a thrall. It was an appealing idea – one which would make my need for silence and secrecy assured, but still allow me to let him live. Even that idea, though, made something go cold in my gut. The vague notion that maybe it wouldn't work.

No, it wasn't that it wouldn't work; it was that, just thinking about it, I didn't want to. Why? It was a perfect solution, even better for me that Ken had his unusual strength and mysterious powers. I could use that in a thrall. Why was I suddenly hesitating?

_Victor..._ I thought for a moment of the single conversation we'd had. The fairness in Ken's features, but the defiance in his voice, the strength in his quiet manner, the inexplicable power he'd used to overcome me...

Perhaps, more than Paul or Michael or any of my other memorable victims, I saw Joshu in him. In the fact that he was able to stop me, to evade me, to keep me at an arms length, tantalizing and palatable, but never within reach.

I could feel the power of the sun over my tomb, keeping me immobile. Were it not for that, I would have hit myself.

Comparing this boy to Joshu was foolish. Joshu had never stopped me – I'd always stopped myself. Ken had forced me away. They were entirely different, and I felt a nerve-wracking self-disgust for even contemplating the notion. Under my fingers, I felt the cool smoothness of the pendant. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax and get some rest.

More than ever, now, I wanted to see some proof that Ken was just a human like any other. And, to do that, I would have to change tactics for chasing him.

A/N: I am such a fucking dork, I actually did a shitload of research on New Orleans and Star Wars to be sure I got most of this stuff accurate. And, as I thought, I'm actually starting to like working on this fic. Given that I have two more on-going stories, I'm trying to get this one at least over and done with.


	3. Chapter 3

In My Blood

By Sapadu

Chapter 7

Ken

For what felt like hours, I stayed underwater in the Mississippi. Every skin cut, open sore, and cracked scab burned, my nose ached with the water going into my sinuses, every muscle I had was on fire. By the time I came up for air, I was clinging to the underside of a dock near a tree with branches hanging over the river like arms. I didn't really remember how I got there – it was against the current, so I must have swum, except I simply didn't remember doing it.

Still dripping with water, I crawled back up onto the banks. I could see the lights of the city glowing in the distance, like a haze of glowing orange fog. However I was going to get back to the shelter, I'd have a long walk between here and even the city limits, either way. I had to check myself over once to make sure I was still in one piece. At least I hadn't lost my lightsaber in the river. It wasn't like I could just build a new one.

But, as I started drying off in the hot night air, I did realize that something was missing. The spot on my chest where a cold, crystal half-circle normally burned between my skin and my shirt, it was bare.

I didn't even realize it until I pulled on my shirt to wring a little extra water out of it. As it flopped back to my chest, I felt so very bare that I couldn't quite put my finger on why. My hand went up to my neck, feeling for the chain I was used to feeling around it. Instead, my fingers found nothing.

My birthstone was gone.

"FRAG!" I looked back the way I'd come, knowing I wouldn't see it on the ground. I didn't even know where to look – if I'd lost it in the river or if it had been before, when I'd been running from Victor. For a moment, I just stood on the spot, looking around in a daze. When that did absolutely nothing, I let out a string of swear words in Corellian and Huttese that Miss Kendalina had gone to great pains to make me memorize.

They didn't do anything, either, but it made me feel a little better.

I made it back to the French Quarter, still damp but no longer dripping wet. I kept to the side streets as I worked my way back towards Canal street – there were Blackboots swarming the French Quarter Visitors' Center, mapping out the spot I'd jumped from. Something told me it would be a very bad idea to just pop back up and bring up another round of questions. There was even still a ring of people lingering on the other side of the investigation site, wondering what the fuss was all about.

I kept my head down and went the other way.

_Just keep your nose out of trouble. Let other people clean up your mess for you._ I just wished I could tell my brain to shut up.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Wire chords bit their way into my wrists and ankles. I'd long since stopped straining against them, but that didn't stop my limbs from their occasional jerk or twitch. Three of the prophets, all in their black robes with the hoods pulled over their heads, stood over my head. The other four were at my feet. All seven of them seemed so tall and menacing, they might as well have reached to the ceiling.

Kriff, maybe they did – nobody said the chamber was a uniformly shaped room.

There were hands on my legs and arms. The air was so frosty that I could see my breath, even in the near impenetrable darkness. Their fingers were like brands on my skin. One leaned over me. I couldn't see into his hood, into his face. Only that sharp, black beard poked out, oily and stiff enough to be a knife.

His hands ran along the sides of my face. I shook my head as hard as I could, straining my neck to keep him away from me. His fingers dug into my cheeks, pulling my head back and baring my throat.

"His Excellency will need a new body." I heard his hissing voice whisper. I could smell a charring, choking smoke rising from the floor. It smelled like burning grease, but there was an iron-heavy, coppery smell to it, too. I couldn't move my head enough to see what it was, and even if I could, I doubted I'd be able to see anything. It was too dark.

But I wasn't that stupid. I knew the smell of burning flesh. And I also knew, from how the room was steadily growing warmer, that the fire was nearby.

A flabby, meaty hand sank it's fingers into my side and squeezed on a chunk of flesh over my stomach. I wanted to yelp, but something stopped my voice from working. I didn't even feel any real pain; just the disgusting sensation as a bushy beard scratched at my belly and a trail of drool slid down my skin.

"We can always attach a droid limb, can't we?" He asked, kneading my body like dough.

"What about something else? The Human body repairs itself for a reason." Another one – this one with his beard in a long braid – sunk his nails into my thigh. I could feel the bruises rising under the marks.

"We discussed this. Everyone will have his turn." Commanded the prophet who was pressing on my elbow in a way that nature had obviously not intended.

I didn't remember being so calm as they discussed cutting me up, chopping off little pieces of my body, and doing any other number of horrible, gruesome feats with them. Maybe it was because none of it really hurt at the moment, or maybe I was distracted by the smell of smoldering blood and the thought of when the fire was going to close in.

The prophet next to the one in the center put a hand over my mouth and nose, forcing me to turn and face him. Briefly, I could see into the hood, the face under it illuminated by the rising flicker of the fire. It was a younger face than I'd ever expected to see on anyone so evil – still smooth and unblemished, the only marks of age being the scars under his eyes and the straight, matted beard that hung over his chest. His eyes glowed a terrible, inhuman green, like some kind of monster eyeing the kill of another, exhausted predator.

"Then, let us begin." He jerked my face, and all sensation returned to my nerves – from the tearing pain near my side to the prickling and aching and soreness everywhere that their fingers dug into my skin.

The prophet lifted his other hand and I could see a long, glowing white piece of steel between his fingers, slowly lowering down to my chest. With every centimeter it grew closer, I felt a sweltering, blistering heat, like that of a lightning bolt. When the tip pressed down on my breastbone, the combination of the fiery heat combining with the needle sharpness of the blade, I finally felt my throat open to scream...

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

My eyes were open before my brain even registered I was awake. It was still pitch dark in the room – not even the supervisors were up at this hour. I checked my chrono, not surprised to see that it was three in the morning. I wasn't used to sleeping at this time of night, but I'd thought it would be a good idea, since one of the counselors at the shelter had wanted to speak with me about moving on. After staying for two months at the shelter, having a job, and being of legal age, I had somewhat expected this.

_So much for that plan._ I thought as I rolled over and tried to fall asleep again. It would easily be hours before any of the counselors or management staff came in for the day. It didn't do any good – I was nice and awake after that nightmare.

Instead, I lay awake in the dark, shivering. I reached under the pillow and grasped at my lightsaber's handle for a kind of reassurance. It came, cold and solid like the metal. I wasn't twelve anymore – I was fully grown, now. I wasn't back home, in the galaxy – I was stranded on a strange planet that was completely cut off from any other system in the universe. I wasn't anyone special – I was just Ken Gray.

The funny thing was, those thoughts weren't nearly as comforting now as they would have been if I'd had this nightmare during my first night on Earth. Actually, just thinking about how I wasn't a Jedi Prince, or even a real Jedi, was much more unsettling than I was willing to admit.

I stayed where I was until five in the morning. I didn't sleep, but I couldn't get up and do anything, either. After rolling over and over and trying to at least doze, I finally got up, stuffed my lightsaber in my pocket, and went out into the city for a walk. The rising sun was so bright that I had to keep an arm over my eyes to shield them. There were the calls of birds I didn't recognize twittering in trees and bushes, which were just as alien to me now as they had been on day one.

Thinking about it, I wondered if there was a reason why I hadn't bothered to learn about the local flora and fauna yet.

_Because you know that it won't matter in a few years. This planet doesn't matter to you – it's just a place to hide for a little while._ Which was a stupid thing to think – I hadn't come here specifically to hide. It wasn't like I'd even had control over coming here – Miss Kendalina hadn't let me anywhere near the cockpit of her ship, not once in the seven years I had been dragged around the galaxy on that thing.

_It's only a matter of time. Once you leave, nobody will care what you learned about this planet. Not even you._ But I wasn't going to leave. Why would I want to? I was safe and anonymous on this planet, a non-entity, a perfectly normal, perfectly average young man. It's what I'd always wanted.

_What you always wanted to want. But what you never can. You'll always want to be different, somehow. Always want to be special._ Mynock spit. I didn't want to be different. Different was why I'd had to run. Different was what almost got me killed. Different had gotten me...

_It's only a matter of time. Sooner or later, one way or another. You're not going to be satisfied here, forever. And the whole galaxy will suffer for it, in the end._

"SHUT UP!" I would have been more surprised when three pigeons jumped and flapped their way out of a hedge, except I was too upset at myself for actually shouting out loud _ Frink, I must be losing my mind._

Too mind-numbed to really think, I followed my habitual steps until I found myself outside the warehouse doors. It was almost six in the morning, but other spots were open – a little cafe that sold caffeinated drinks and pastries was already bumping with activity. I went in and got something called 'Chai' while I waited for the offices to open. Why? Why not? The Human Resources would at least want to see me to be sure I was okay before they let me back on the job, especially after I'd lied about pulling a back muscle.

"You're sure you want to come back tonight? Most stockers don't even work every day of the week – I don't think any of the supervisors would mind you taking another day off." Our Human Resources director was a woman who looked like she should have had adult children. I'd only seen her once, during my interview.

"I'm fine, really. I've always recovered from injuries and diseases quickly. And I don't mind working so much – it's not like I've got anything better to do with my time." I offered. And it gave me something to do, instead of just shiftless lazing about.

"The higher ups tend to mind – a factory worker who never takes a day off is bad, both for the workforce and for the payroll books."

I shrugged, indifferently.

"So they can give me a pay cut. I'd rather not get paid as much per hour and be able to work as much as I can than have a heavy check for only three days a week."

The director peered at me over the round, pink-rimmed eye-enhancers she wore. I could tell that she was pondering if I was really being serious or not – more than once, I'd had someone in the warehouse tell me that they couldn't differentiate between sincerity and facetiousness with me.

"There's also the law. You have to have at least one day off from this job, or we're gonna get a fine."

_Ah, yes – this wonderful planet actually has civilizations that make laws to STOP their citizens from working._ I just felt so much better, already.

I shrugged, again.

"So, they can have me working at a different job in the warehouse on days when I can't work. It wouldn't be the exact same job, so it would be within the law."

She continued to watch me, eyes narrowed as though she wanted to hit me for being so relaxed about this. I almost wanted to laugh at the exact expression on her face.

"Go home." Was what she did say when she regained her composure, "Someone will be here until ten, and if you can make it to work, call and let them know. Until then, you won't be on the schedule."

I had to resist the urge to snap 'Gee, thanks' in her face. I'm glad I held back. I was at least able to leave the office and walk back to the shelter with something to think about.

After that, I went back to the shelter for my appointment with the counselor. She was a heavier woman with braided dreadlocks all over her head and down the sides of her face. She never had liked me much – maybe it was because so many of the other residents at the shelter were all addicts or mentally disturbed, while I was actually capable of taking care of myself. Either way, she'd had only a little sympathy for me and my story about losing my parents and my memory, and it had dried up by now.

As such, my discussion with her was terse and stiff. I said that I'd been looking for apartments, but had simply been unable to find one that I could afford; that I'd been looking for extra jobs; that I'd been thinking about going to college for a degree. Any observer would have known there was no possible way I was being sincere, even though I was acting like it, and the counselor was just listening and making notes because she wanted to get out of there with her obligatory duty fulfilled.

I didn't mind. I wanted to be left alone to brood.

_Kendal_. I was actually dumb enough to look over my shoulder for a speaker. The room was still as empty as it had been a second ago, but I knew that I'd heard SOMEthing.

_Maybe it's because you just WANT to hear it._ And why was I hearing voices? That was usually a good indicator of schizophrenia. Did this mean I'd have to see a doctor? I had enough to do, just trying to find a place to stay and get out of here without any medical problems. Not to mention that most employers didn't regard psychosis as a redeemable trait in workers.

I didn't have all day. I ended up nodding off for a nap in the afternoon and woke up with barely enough time to call in and make sure I'd be scheduled for the night. The man who answered the comm even sounded agitated that I'd waited until the last minute to call. Maybe that was why he said I wouldn't be on schedule. We ended up arguing for five minutes, until I got sick of trying to convince him. Whether it was a real issue with the computer or he just didn't want to cave, I couldn't figure out.

"Gray." I almost hung up before I caught myself – that was what people called me, sometimes, but I still forgot.

"Yeah?"

"In the future, could you not use work as a meeting place for any friends of yours, or whatever?" He spoke in a tone that almost felt like Miss Kendalina scolding me for doing something that I knew better than to do. It would have almost been insulting, if it weren't for how the demand caught me off guard.

"What friends? The only guys I really talk to are all coworkers, anyway."

There was a confused grunt on the other end.

"Some guy was here just a few minutes ago – he said you'd asked him to meet you here. I had to tell him to beat it."

Something in my gut felt like the floor had just dropped.

"...Who? Did he give a name?" I pressed, trying to at least sound casual. Acting panicked would just make this other guy suspicious.

I heard a grunt that I almost always saw accompanied by a shrug from the other end.

"I'unnuh."

"Okay... Anything about what he looked like?"

"Kinda tall... kinda macho... I dunno – he reminded me of Schwarzenegger, except without the accent. It was just some guy, really."

"...And... Did you give him an address or number or anything?"

"I don't KNOW! I just remember seeing him poking around outside the employee entrance when I went out for a smoke. Next thing I know, I'm inside, dialing the cops and when they get here, dude's gone."

I had to reach up and brace the comm against my face – the hand around the receiver had started to grow slippery with sweat.

Victor had figured out where I lived. Whatever he'd done to Marcus the first night, he'd caught this guy and done the same thing, and either probed or prodded or wrenched, but somehow got it out of him.

This left one of two options – either I could stay here and hope that he didn't dare try attacking me in a place that had so many other residence for potential witnesses, or I could leave and hope he couldn't track me. Personally, I was inclined to think that staying put would be the safer option. It wasn't like he knew exactly where I was in the building, nor did he have any way of getting in without drawing attention.

_Besides, he might mistake some other, poor sap as you. You wouldn't need to worry if Victor only thinks he got the right person._ What the Krethin Hells was wrong with me? Where did that idea come from? I couldn't just let someone else take the fall for me. If Victor wanted to kill me, then I'd defend myself. And anyone else, for that matter.

_Unless you can't._ It was a sobering thought, however much I tried to tell myself not to be defeatist about this. _Maybe you can protect yourself, but how can you be certain that's what he wants? Maybe he'll go after someone else, just because he can. _That was stupid – he hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself the first time. Killing somebody else would only attract suspicion. And it would tighten security on this place, making it even harder for him to get a second chance.

_Weak. Scared, soft, stupid, and weak. Just afraid you won't be able to stop him. You can't stop him. You can't save anybody._

That night was the longest I'd ever had; not being able to sleep, not going to work, and with absolutely nothing to do but sit and think. I pondered going out and at least finding a bookstore somewhere, but I remembered my resolve to stay put and besides, they were all closed by the time eleven-thirty rolled around.

It was at exactly midnight that something hit me. At first, I wondered if it was just a start – if my unease, restlessness, and heightened tension had just made me jump at a perfectly innocent bump in the night. Then it came again. I tried to tell myself it had to be something normal. That I was imagining things, that I was just being paranoid, that I was reading too much into a muscle twitch or shot of joint soreness.

Then, it came a third time. I couldn't ignore it, then. I couldn't even have described what it was – it was like a crawling on my skin, except it was deeper. It went under my flesh and into my bones. I could tell that it wasn't just a disquiet. I could almost sense that something terrible was about to happen, like I could hear a voice screaming from a room down a long hallway, except the echo was coming before the scream, not after.

Before I could even think about what I was doing, I'd reached under the bed I slept on and pulled out a jacket. It was a knee-length, earthen brown material with a hood that bore an eerie resemblance to the robes worn by a Jedi Master. I don't know why I'd ever gotten it, especially when I'd never worn it, so I had even less of a clue why it was what I pulled out to cover up in. But I did.

And I left the building, completely disregarding my previous determination to stay inside that night.

It was cooler than during the day, but there were still plenty of people out, even on the side streets, and every single one of them was in some sort of unusual garb, most dripping fake blood or revealing too much skin. If I hadn't grown so used to seeing exclusively Humans on this planet, I might have mistaken them for aliens of some kind. At the moment, though, my immediate thought was that with so much strangeness and unreal costumes, it would be the perfect camouflage for a vampire on the hunt for a specific person.

Even thinking about that, I couldn't keep still. There was still something nagging at me, like being jostled in the middle of a crowded enclosed space, but still having somebody deliberately poking me in the back, trying to get my attention. My feet moved on their own, going in the same direction I could feel the sense pulling me.

_So much for not using the Force while you were on this planet, huh?_ I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried not to think about it. It wasn't really like I was using the Force... it was more like just sensing it, just because it was there and I couldn't not sense it. It was the same difference between actively sniffing for an odor and simply being unable to block heavy smells when they were all around you.

_Keep telling yourself that._

"Shut up." And I was talking to myself. Again.

"Who you be tellin' to shut up?" I stumbled backwards and almost tripped over a girl in a gold and black spotted brasserie. Her skin was the color of chocolate with too much cream. Her braided hair was an unnatural shade of bronze and gold, jet black at the roots where it hadn't yet been dyed. She eyed me up and down, obviously taking in the coat I was wearing like it was a 'Kick me' sign. I wasn't surprised when she put an arm through my elbow.

"Whatchoo in the mood for?" She asked. It was clumsy and it was vulgar, and frankly, I was in no mood to be courted. If I'd been in a less gracious state of mind, I might have even vomited on her, if it would have made me feel better.

"A restraining order – I hear they're very fashionable these days." I replied, curtly, not even bothering with a pretense of chivalry as I unhooked her arm from my elbow.

Barely five steps away, I had to stop. The prickling was back. When I turned to look back the way I'd come, I saw the girl disappear into the crowd, and my scalp tingled as though someone were yanking on each, individual hair.

It was her. Something about her, whether she was going to be the cause of whatever gave me this impending sense of doom, or if she was the voice I'd heard screaming, I knew that it was connected with her. Nothing seemed to even matter. So it was dangerous, so it was stupid, so it was probably none of my business. I didn't care – I just had to know what it was.

_And Victor? We're not going to worry about him, just because we have a creepy feeling coming off of a strange pleasure girl who tried to hook you? If he decides to just swoop in and grab you now, that's okay, because you just have to figure out this puzzle?_ Shut up.

Pulling my hood over my head, I started going through the crowd, looking for where she'd gone. It seemed like the crowd was just taunting me, all these people going past, and the occasional girl who looked almost exactly like the one I'd bumped into. Sometimes, I'd hear a scream from blocks over and start towards it, then hear it end in a cackling laugh or some other hysteria, and realize it was just a group of drunkards celebrating. Twice, I bumped into whole groups of men dressed up in corsets and heavy make-up. It took me several blocks to get rid of them.

Finally, at two in the morning, I spotted her, again. She was pulling some tall stranger out of a dilapidated hotel with white grill railings over the windows. She was swaying, holding onto her client's arm like a wounded soldier clings to a walking support.

All I could think was, _Why are there still so many people out at this time of night?_

The sense came back, three times as horrible and frightening as it had been when I'd first sensed it. It made me feel staggered and dizzy and sick, so much that I had to lean against the lamppost I was under to catch my breath. It was the same sensation of hearing someone screaming, except I could practically hear words being formed, and all in her voice.

Did that mean she was going to be the victim? Or was I just imposing the sensation onto my perceptions because I wanted to believe it?

I ended up following them all the way back to the shelter. The street had quieted down, there were barely any people, and the few who were still there were sitting, slumped over on their front steps, passed out like fuses with broken wires. I was still at least a block behind them, far enough that I couldn't see where their hands were or what expressions they were wearing, but close enough that I could see when the girl pulled her client's face closer. Out of embarrassment, I hid my eyes in the inside of my hood. I'd seen more than enough skin this night, I didn't need to see anything more.

I looked back up when I heard the voice of the girl bolting out in a scream, right before a struggling muffle. The client she'd been leading back to the shelter was bending her over backwards, like a painfully twisted dance move. His hand was covering her mouth and her fists beating on his broad shoulders. Then, she went limp. The stranger looked up and straight at me.

It was Victor. There was blood dripping from his lower lip and running down his chin. His whole face was in a feral grin, like a nexu with fresh kill.

For a split second, I didn't know what to do; if I wanted to charge at him and fight or if I wanted to run away as fast as I could. Or, for that matter, if I would have a choice before Victor would just tear me apart.

And then, Victor was gone. I could see him lifting clean off the ground, leaving the girl behind on the ground. My feet were moving on their own as I started sprinting towards the girl's limp body. My fingers found a faint, shallow pulse on the side of her neck that hadn't been punctured. There wasn't any blood spilling from her wounds, but whether it was because she was healing quickly for some reason, or because Victor had taken that much of her blood, I didn't know.

_Because of you! All because of you, all over again!_ I couldn't think. My hands were frozen, the gears in my mind completely unable to turn. What was I supposed to do? She was still alive, but she wouldn't last long enough for the transports on this planet to get here and resuscitate her. And I couldn't do anything – maybe if I had some kinds of tools I could attempt giving her some of my blood, but even then, I didn't have much advanced medical training and I had no way of knowing what her blood type was and if she could accept it.

_Ken, use the Force._ I sat straight up and looked around. I knew I hadn't been imagining it this time – I'd definitely heard something. And I'd recognized the voice as being different from any of the others that had ever haunted me.

There was nobody on the street, not even an apparition or ghost or anything, but I found myself not caring.

_Just this once. Just to save a life. Just once._ I flexed my fingers, focusing my energy into my hands. The old sensation returned to my limbs; the feeling I'd almost forgotten on Earth. Maybe I'd convinced myself I couldn't use the Force, maybe I'd even thought to myself that it didn't exist on this planet. After all, nobody else could use it. But I didn't think about it at the moment – it wasn't even because I knew I had to or anything, but because I just couldn't think of anything else, that I meditated. I could feel the telltale glow of Force healing powers coming to the surface. I thought only about the Force, how it was a Jedi's ally, how it could do anything, how it was everywhere, surrounding me, with me.

I heard the girl take a deep breath in, then cough. I opened my eyes. Her skin was a warmer color, and the spot where my hands hovered, right over her neck, had no puncture wounds. I could see the line of her artery rising and falling with renewed pulse. I pressed my fingers against it again, relieved to feel a heavy and hard-pressing pulse against them.

Her eyes opened as I continued to check her vitals. One hand came up and hit me squarely on the cheekbone.

"WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU IS?" She shouted at me, getting to her feet and kicking me over, backward. I didn't stop her, figuring it would be over sooner if I didn't try and fight back. But that was it – no other words, she went storming into the shelter, hollering at the top of her lungs that some creep had tried to take advantage of her.

"You're welcome." I muttered to myself. I stayed on the ground, but rolled up enough to at least sit on the curb.

_The Force is a Jedi's ally. The Force is a JEDI'S ally. You have no allies in this place. This place knows you too well, and it hates you! _I put my head in my hands, wishing that my brain would just shut up. I'd done the right thing. I knew I'd done the right thing. Why couldn't that at least be enough for me to feel better about myself, even if nobody else appreciated it? Why couldn't I at least take some satisfaction that I hadn't done something wrong?

_A Jedi does not act for personal gain._ Where had THAT come from? And why was I thinking about it, anyway? I wasn't a Jedi. Not in the traditional sense. Hell, even in a non-traditional sense, I wasn't a Jedi. I was just a nobody. Useless, unneeded, powerless.

_But wishing he COULD be somebody, even though it will only lead to disaster._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up..."

Of course, the reason Victor had done this wasn't helping. I knew damn well that he'd just attacked that girl to send me a message – that he knew where I lived, and if he wanted to, he could come and squash me like a bug. But he was choosing not to. He wanted me to come to him.

He wanted me to surrender.

I couldn't explain how, but I knew.

Looking over my shoulder, I could see silhouettes of two people obviously in animated discussion behind a pull-down shade. I couldn't stay out on the curb forever. I'd have to go back in there, even if I did get kicked right back out.

Then what? I couldn't stay out on the streets for the rest of my life. And I really didn't want to try. At the same time, I wasn't going to find a place to live over night. Logically, the only conclusion I could really come to was _This is going to suck._

When I went back in, the girl was, indeed waiting for me, and immediately started hollering something about rape or whatever. I didn't listen – I just grabbed the things I had under the mattress and walked right back out. She could call the police if she wanted to. Maybe I'd even get arrested. I didn't care.

I went back out into the night. Dawn was still hours off and all of the party-goers and people in costumes were gone for the night. It wasn't cool, but it wasn't warm, and either way, there was nothing I could really do to pass the time, except walk around the streets in circles. I wasn't worried about someone trying to jump me – I could defend myself just fine.

But what the kriff was I going to do? Especially now that Victor was going to be on my tail, and if I didn't give myself up...

An idea suddenly came to me. What if, instead of surrendering, I could turn the tables on him? What if I could stop him? What if...

Oh, this was either a stroke of brilliance, or I was the dumbest man on this planet.

Either way, tomorrow night, I wouldn't have to worry about where I was going to sleep.

Chapter 8

Victor

My sleep was uneasy. It had been for the last week, but I was satisfied. Soon, this whole nerve-wracking experience would be over. Ken would be out of the way and I could go back to my normal existence. Maybe I would even stop having these visions of Joshu.

I knew it was a dream – I'd gotten used to all the differences between visions when I was awake and dreams when I was sleeping. Joshu stood over me, just like he had on that day in Judea, bare feet barely touching the dark grainy rocks on the cliffs over-looking the province. His arms were stretched out, raised up into the sky. His sculpted, naked body was dripping and streaked with thick, red blood.

I wanted to reach up and kiss his lips, touch him again. Every time I reached, it seemed like the cliff stretched out, keeping me further than an arms length, like Tantalus' pool of water or branches of fruit in Tartarus.

"Victor." He called down to me. I gazed, longingly, back up, wanting to see some of my familiar Joshu in his face. It was turned up to the sky, away from me. "Victor, you're in danger."

"From WHAT?" I demanded, fingers digging into the cliff face. Joshu's face lowered. I saw it change, the olive skin melting to a thick tan, his hair blowing back, long and dark, until it was Michael staring down at me.

"You're in danger." He repeated. It was Michael's voice. It was Michael's body. It was Michael's hand that stretched down and pointed to the ground below my feet. It was slowly falling away, leaving me with only a square of stone beneath me.

When I looked back up, Michael's hand was stretched out, reaching for me. His fingers grew longer, nimbler, and pale as milk. The arm was smooth and lanky, and the body it led up to was no longer Michael's. It was Paul.

"Victor." He pleaded. Meeting his hazel eyes made my insides knot up and quake. I was shaking with anger inside.

"Joshu!" I howled. Seeing Paul's face was too much, at this point, "Leave Paul out of this." I grabbed Paul's face. I wanted to pull him to me, envelope him, save him from Joshu's God manipulating and playing with me. My fingers touched Paul's cheek, and it crumbled into sand.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I woke up. The earthen smell of my casket was welcome and solid compared to the dream. At the same time, I hadn't seen Paul in what felt like an eternity. Even a dream version of him was something more than what I had thought. It made my chest constrict, like my heart was being squeezed by a vise.

I was grateful for nightfall. At night, at least I had control. And I had business to finish. I didn't want to be immobile for the night – I was made to move. Rest and frozen nights were for Joshu's heaven. Just thinking about the time I'd spent, unmoving and undirected, made me angry with myself.

That night, I wasn't hungry – I'd fed well on the tramp from the night before. The tart taste of her blood had been worth it. I knew Ken had been watching, and the look on his face had given me a familiar pleasure, like the sense of triumph I'd felt over every conquest I'd made against the church, every move I'd made to defy the Dark Kingdom. I wanted to see it again. It made my blood buzz in my veins, like the high of exhilarating and rough sex.

It turned out that I wouldn't even need to wait. I opened the door to the house, only to find a note tucked in, under the cracks. It smelled like iron and copper, and when I picked it up, I could tell it was Ken's clumsy handwriting in a dark brown stain on the paper. He wanted me to meet him outside the doors at the warehouse he worked in and midnight. It was a bold move, one which made me only want to hurry the minutes up.

Not wanting to be caught by surprise, I sped to the location. I checked my watch – eleven. I didn't mind – after the surprising moves I'd seen Ken pull, I wasn't about to risk him setting up a trap for me as he waited for midnight.

The moments went by slowly, as though taunting me. I paced, anxious for a reason I didn't even understand. I was sure I would be able to survive, no matter what Ken did. I always survived. Even if he'd contacted the police, they wouldn't be able to do anything. I'd taken on federal agents. I'd fed on soldiers and hunters and feared mass murderers. None of them posed any threat to me.

So what was it that made me want to run and hide, or at least duck?

"My note said midnight." I turned to see Ken, not coming up the sidewalk, but coming out the door of the warehouse. It was as though he'd been inside, lurking, waiting for nightfall. In his hand, he had a little checkbook. He was scribbling frantically, only occasionally stopping to count on his fingers. Over his shoulder, he had a backpack that looked ready to split at the seams, "Patience is a virtue, you know."

Cocky little bastard had balls, I'd give him that.

I was ready to charge at him when the first car pulled up.

"G-man!" I recognized the worker that had led me to this place on the first night. He didn't even notice me, while Ken stepped out from the warehouse to greet him.

"Hey, Marcus. I missed you guys the last few nights."

"You wasn't there last night. We was thinkin' you'd been kidnapped."

"Nope – just pulled a muscle. I'm better now." Ken jabbed Marcus with his elbow. I watched, apprehensively, as they bantered, completely at ease. It made me wonder if there was something I was supposed to be afraid of, "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

Marcus pulled a face.

"Tomorrah? Where you be at, tonight?"

"I picked up a day shift, today. I'll resume my normal schedule tomorrow." He pronounced 'schedule' with a British inflection. How could nobody pick up on that?

"Ah. We gonna miss you." Marcus shrugged and gave Ken a slug on his arm, then sauntered inside. Ken smirked over his shoulder, then turned to me, still smiling. It was almost like Joshu's smile when he knew he'd won an argument, whether it was with me or with the incompetent Pharisees in his Temple.

The comparison made me pause.

"You up for a walk?" Ken asked. I eyed him with contempt, for Ken's complete serenity around me. It must have shown more than I was used to, because Ken eyed me right back, "Don't you think if I wanted to harm you, I would have done it by now. I know where you live, I know what you are, I know what your weaknesses are. If I was going to call the police or expose you, I would have done it."

I couldn't even say anything to refute that. It was peculiar – Ken seemed less frightened of me and more intrigued. It was so unlike any feeling I'd ever seen aroused in a Human being by my presence. It was even like the feeling he aroused in me.

That fact, in and of itself, disturbed me.

"Where to?" I finally asked, as we started walking down the street. Ken turned onto Canal Street, towards an open Walgreens down the street.

"I need a sucrose fix." Ken explained as though it were perfectly obvious, then looked back at me. That smug, half-arrogant, half-playful smirk was back, "Just like you need a fix of iron, water, and plasma every few days."

I wanted to glare at him, except he was so right.

"And you're not even frightened of me?"

Ken shrugged.

"Other species drink blood. Where I come from, there are plenty of species higher on the food chain than Humans. And some of them are considered sentient, too."

I was tempted to pull back and put some space between us.

"Where you come from, huh?"

"I don't expect you to really believe me. Just look at it this way – nobody would believe you being a vampire, just like nobody would believe that I come from a different galaxy, altogether. That puts us in the same... ship? Or was it boat? I still have trouble with your Earth slang." Ken shrugged.

That unease returned. Michael had been more than willing to believe me. He'd also been the one to say 'Nature is nature' when I asked if he thought of me as a monster. Ultimately, though, he couldn't accept my kind of life. Hunting, living alone for centuries, hiding in the night.

That had led to the night that took Michael away from me.

I felt ill.

"Of course, here, it's different for you to be something that nobody believes in. If I tell someone I'm from another planet, they laugh at me and shoo me off. Maybe, if they think I'm really chewing the luna weed, they'll call the law enforcements and they'll take me off to the happy place with padded walls. You, on the other hand, if anyone finds out about you, they'll hunt you down like a rabid animal."

How was he being so calm? I was suddenly wishing I'd never even bothered. If he really would have left me in peace, I would have preferred that without this prodding and analyzing.

Right outside Walgreens, Ken stopped and swerved around to stare right at me. He almost looked like he was enjoying watching me squirm.

"It must be dangerous. Always going from place to place, never being sure if you'll survive until morning, always having to stick your neck out, risk something in order to feed, to survive."

I wanted to reach out and grab him by the throat. There was nobody around, nobody would have seen. So what made me hesitate?

"How would you like to have a secured food source?" Ken's tone switched. He was no longer quiet and menacing – if anything, he sounded almost like some kind of mischievous sprite from Celtic legends. I blinked.

"Food source?" I asked. Ken nodded, grinning and bouncing on his feet.

"Yes. A meal ticket. Like a... I don't know, that giant fish that allows these smaller fish to ride on it's back, and they get to eat plankton and fungus off the giant fish's skin."

"You mean sharks and remoras?" I asked. I didn't appreciate the comparison.

"Exactly. I know what you are, and what you need to eat to survive, and I wouldn't harm you or turn you in. I wouldn't mind donating a liter of blood every few days or so. You wouldn't need to risk getting caught again, always have a guaranteed source of food, no matter what else is going on in the world, and if anyone else found out about you, I'm awake during the day, so I could guard your tomb."

That gave me pause. I'd never considered this idea. Ken reached up and undid a button at his collar – his shirt had long sleeves, it must have been sweltering under that – and I could see his throat gleam, like a smooth, polished piece of ivory.

It was too easy.

"And what do you get out of this?" I asked. Ken's smile dropped and returned to that smirk. It was as though my discomfort amused him.

"I need a place to stay." He said, simply. I scowled.

"What if I refuse?" I asked, simultaneously wondering why I couldn't just grab him and drain him, there. He wasn't intimidating, he wasn't that attractive, and I didn't need a host to just leech off of. I'd survived two millennia, hunting in the night. I didn't suddenly need a free meal ticket.

"I'll move in during the day. You wouldn't have a chance to stop me, and you wouldn't be able to throw me out."

"And how do you know where I –"

"Ooh, a vending machine." Ken didn't even listen to the rest of my question, "I don't have to go inside, now." He wandered over, pulling out a very wrinkled bill. I stared after him, "I followed you, that's how I know."

I continued to stare. What WAS he, anyway?

Ken stuck the bill into the machine, only for the machine to spit it back out.

"Hey, Mister." Ken's voice dropped to a slur, something completely unlike his normal tone. If I hadn't been right there, I would have mistaken him for a different person, right there, "Change? Ya got any change?"

I would never admit it, but Ken surprised me with that. The bum. That filthy, disgusting old fart sitting on the corner the night I'd been waiting for Ken to show up at the warehouse. It had been HIM the whole time, and I hadn't smelled him or sensed him or noticed at all. I should have been less surprised, given that Ken had blocked my powers over Human minds, but it still shocked me that I hadn't even suspected.

In a strange way, it made me feel something akin to respect.

"Burn scar." I recalled. I shoved a hand into my pocket, looking for change, "Nice touch."

"Thank you." Ken agreed, returning to his normal voice and freely swapping his dollar for a handful of quarters I'd dug out. He selected a Snickers, then turned back and very casually sized me up, "So... interested?"

He rolled his sleeve up. I could see raised bumps along the inside of his arm, like mosquito bites, against a smooth, pale expanse that matched his throat. This time, I could smell his sweat and the bite of his blood. My fangs descended and my tongue trembled. I was curious, if nothing else, for a taste.

There were also a great number of other reminders that made me more than hungry, now more than ever. My body came back into my control. I swiftly stepped around Ken and pushed him into the corner between the vending machine and the wall, out of the spotlight. My fingers grasped his throat and held his wrist. His flesh was soft, like a tender calf leg. Ken didn't even flinch.

"What if I'm interested in something else?" I whispered, lowering my face as close as I could. Ken's breath was measured and calm. There was a faint scent of acidic, musky soap on his face, the faintest puff of mint and citrus on his breath.

With his free hand, Ken grabbed my wrist and squeezed. I was less surprised, this time, that it hurt so much. Without so much as a grimace, he pulled my hand away from his throat.

"You have hands." He replied, coolly, "Calibrate your own deece."

I could feel my temper rising. It had always come to the surface in the face of a self-righteous old monk or another calmly and severely lecturing me about my behavior in a cloister, but there had never been an underlying tone of personal disdain. And, from Ken's voice, I could tell that what he'd just said to me had been a rough, literal equivalent to 'Go fuck yourself'.

And his tone held a strange power over me. I couldn't understand why, nor how. Maybe it was the fact that he was so stubborn and strong willed, even in the face of something that could easily overpower him; it recalled me to Michael, again.

But, more than anything, I think it was because I didn't understand him. I didn't understand where this courage he had came from, how he'd been able to hunt and track me just as much as I had, him, or anything about him. That made me curious. I wanted to have him within my reach, just to learn.

If Ken could resist me, could fight back, then the next time I met someone unusual, I would be able to understand them. I needed that. That was how I'd lasted this long – by learning and adapting.

It was as though Ken could read my thoughts. He sneered up at me, chin tucked as those clear, silver eyes studied my face.

"You know you'll need to. If you don't take advantage of this opportunity..." He let it hang. I released his throat and stepped back. For a moment there, he'd actually been the tiniest bit frightening. As soon as I let him back out into the light flooding from Walgreens' windows, the look was gone, like a shadow.

Without any further discussion, Ken pulled a strip of bandage out of his pocket, tying it around his arm. It was like watching an addict prepare for his next fix. Ken's arm turned red, the streaks of blue of his veins poking out like highlights. Not needing any prompting, I grabbed his wrist and sank my fangs into his elbow like I was starving. The blood that spurted into my mouth tasted like something spicy and sweet all at the same time, like a sweet, hot drink with chili pepper mixed in. It ran down my throat, thick and smooth, like it wasn't even a liquid at all.

I glanced towards Ken to see he had his eyes firmly shut. He was still conscious – also a first for any victim I'd ever fed on – and it looked as though he were carefully gauging how much blood I was taking. I drained another mouthful before I pulled away. It made my mouth sting, as the taste and feeling of something in it disappeared.

Ken's arm dropped and he slouched, limply, to the ground. His fingers fumbled as he undid the bandage around his arm, then with the wrapper of his Snickers. I could feel his strength completely sapped. If I'd wanted to, I could have taken him. I was so tempted to, but any desire I had was smothered at seeing him so weak.

There was no challenge. And that irritated me.

Scoffing, I turned to stalk away as Ken chewed on his candy bar.

"Oh, don't mind me! I'm SURE I can make it back on my own! I JUST feel dizzy and light-headed and nauseous! And I'm SURE nobody would want to pick a fight with a spacer who looks like he just received a skin transfusion from a MAGGOT! Not at THIS hour of the night! I'll be just FINE!" Ken called, his peculiar accent making each sarcastic drawl grate on my ears.

Beyond my understanding, my feet took me back towards Ken.

"I'll walk you to the house." I muttered, ignoring Ken's imitation of a surprised gasp, then his very sincere yelp of pain as I roughly grabbed his elbow and dragged him to his feet. I wasn't sure if it was my vampiric strength, or Ken's bony, fleshless frame, but he felt even lighter than a child to me.

We reached the house long before any hint of sunrise. I wasn't tired in the slightest, and Ken had to have a sleep schedule used to this from his usual work shift, but he didn't even comment on any of the house's disrepair as I pulled him up the stairs into one of the bedrooms. Dust scattered with every step, floor boards creaked, and I was fairly certain I heard a very large rodent skittering away inside the walls.

The bedroom was completely bare, just like every other room in the house. It hadn't occurred to me to furnish the place – I saw it as a waste of funds, since I would never have any company and I would never use any of it, myself. That would have to change – a bed would be in order, at the very least. Ken unsteadily swayed as he dismounted his backpack, then willingly flopped onto the bare floor. A cloud of dust puffed into the air. Both of us coughed and sneezed, but then Ken was silent and went fast to sleep.

With nothing more to do, I perched myself against the wall, watching him. His appearance didn't give anything away, and there was nothing I could sense from him. Physically, he was slightly stronger than the people in New Orleans, but it was something purely from his body. Beyond that, I could sense nothing. Even that quiet strength that had allowed him to look me in the eye and still feel no fear seemed to have disappeared. Had I imagined it because I had feared his fearlessness? Or had Ken just put up an act of ballsy mouth so well that I had missed his real apprehension?

The chill returned, but I paid it no mind, now. If anything, I almost understood what it was. Ken was just as human as any other victim I'd fed on. That made everything strange and unusual about him even stranger and more unusual. I did find that a little unsettling.

But I was confident that I could handle it. I'd always handled unsettling victims before.

Perhaps what made me uneasy was the fact that there seemed to be no way I could manipulate this boy. I couldn't frighten him, nor intimidate him. Other victims that hadn't been frightened by me were awed, and they'd given themselves over, easily, willingly, freely. Ken did neither – either submit out of fear nor out of adoration. That lack of control was something I was not used to.

That meant nothing. I would simply have to find some other way to keep him under control. All I had to do was wait, and Ken would, eventually, reveal some weakness about himself.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When dawn drew nearer, I left my spot to return to my casket. I hadn't really bothered to keep anything about the house in good order, save for the cellar. The more it looked like an abandoned, condemned building, the better. Nobody would disturb me, that way – New Orleans locals were too superstitious to get a demolition order, and plenty of hoodoo practitioners would scare off any visitors who wanted to go to the trouble.

In the darkness, I could see everything perfectly with a vampire's vision. Every surface in the house had dust and rodent shit over it, some spots of it hardened onto the floor or walls like a crust. More than a few windows had broken glass, one was missing it's window altogether, and the walls had holes in them, exposing the decaying boards behind the plaster and chewed up insulation.

A rat darted in front of me on the steps down to the cellar. Reflexes still lightning fast and able, I snatched the pest from the step and sank my teeth into its side. The beast flailed, then sagged. Its blood made me pucker, and it was barely anything to make me feel full. When I hurled its useless body against the cinderblock wall of the cellar, the crunch its bones made satisfied me.

Feeling dawn's rays about to break over the horizon outside, I lifted my casket lid, then slid into place. The long tension was gone, but in its place, I felt a distinct sense of unease. The blood in my gut felt cold, but it was heavy and settled inside me easily enough that I found myself drifting to sleep before I could think to ponder further.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving. And if all the weird slang Ken uses is throwing you off, look it up on Wookiepedia.


	4. Chapter 4

In My Blood

By Sapadu

Chapter 9

Ken

Since the majority of my life was spent growing up either underground or on ships, I was also somewhat used to a level of sterilized conditions. My time on Earth had taught me that not all civilizations were quite up to the same standards of sanitation as my own, so I'd learned to at least sleep with some level of discomfort that the sheets might not be washed or there might be microscopic bacteria in the air or my sleeping surfaces... But, for the most part, I was still mostly used to sleeping without having any living things on my person.

So, imagine how loud I screamed when I woke up at dawn and found a large, wolf spider crawling across my face.

Here's a hint: I may have awoken neighbors.

The majority of my day, therefore, was spent on trying to at least make the house livable. After throwing the spider across the room until it splattered on the opposite wall, I had to brush the dust from my clothes and go wandering about the house, looking for some means to clean it.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. The wooden floors were covered in dust and dirt so thick, I left footprints wherever I stepped. Any surfaces with tiles on them were brown and black with mildew and mold. I felt filthy, just looking at it. When I went down to the kitchen to turn on the water, hoping I could at least wash up in the sink, the water that came out was dark brown and splattered over the sink with a thick, metallic odor.

"Ugh." It was all I could say, especially after I'd discovered the same thing happened when I went to try two different fresher sinks and the tub and shower, as well, "This is DISGUSTING."

After letting the water run for at least half an hour, one of the sinks started to clear up, but the smell was still thick and choking in the air, but even then, it had overflowed from the basin and dribbled onto the floor. I couldn't even do anything before seven, when I could be sure some kind of store would be open and I could find the proper supplies for disinfecting the house.

And believe me, I was very disappointed they didn't have anything akin to undiluted acid on the shelves. It was about the only thing I thought would be able to get the floors clean before the next century.

Seven hours later, I sat down on a clean floor in the kitchen, staring at the crumbling walls and pondering how I was supposed to fix THAT, of all things. I hadn't even had the brains to get something to eat all day – Victor's kitchen was lacking in a stove and refrigeration unit, and I'd been on my feet all day, scrubbing the floors clean until I could at least sit down without having any insects skitter over my legs. My knees throbbed like I had used my kneecaps to lift heavy weights and my head spun with lack of blood sugar and thirst. If it weren't for sunlight shining right through a complete hole in the wall that was supposed to be a window, I might have just fallen asleep right there and not moved for a day. As it was, the sun was hitting me right in the eye.

That, and I remembered when I heard something squeak and go skittering across a now impeccably clean floor, that there were other living creatures in this building. Non-sentient, verminous... FILTHY... living creatures. I got off the floor in a hurry, just in time to squawk and kick a very small rat away from my shoe.

Instead of trying to fix the problem, I stalked down into the basement. This, at least, was clean and in good condition. No rotting wood, no broken windows, nothing that would make me worry for my immediate safety. I saw and heard insects moving in the dim light, but it wasn't nearly as bad as up in the higher levels.

Also, over in the corner, I could see a large, long box. The outside surface was smooth and lacquered, a stark contrast to the rough, unfinished cement walls and bare piping in the cellar. I'd never seen an Earth casket, but I did know that the Earth people buried their dead. I just hadn't really expected them to be so refined. Sure, some cultures had pretty elaborate decorations for their dead – a sect of Corellian culture would cremate their dead, then artificially compress the ashes to form a diamond that they'd place in a memorial, and plenty of Alliance pilots and heros would have holos in a gallery dedicated to their memory... but all of them were meant to be seen. Why make this kind of final resting place be so polished and elegant, almost a work of art in it's simplicity, and then bury it in the ground?

Oh, well – I couldn't bring too much logic to a world that had legends about creatures like vampires, but then everyone denied there could ever, possibly be such a real creature, even if there was one staring them right in the face.

With nowhere else to lay down, I curled up on top of the casket and tried to sleep. It felt safer there – the sheen on the lacquer was so pristine, even though it was in a basement, that I had the distinct impression rats and insects wouldn't even bother me if I was on it.

As I drifted into an exhausted cat-nap, I couldn't help but wonder if Victor ever paused to think about the peculiar nature of sleeping inside a box that was meant to harbor a corpse.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I was jolted awake as the lid of the casket lifted and forced me clean off, onto the floor. I rolled a few times before sitting up and shaking my head. Victor slid the lid of his casket off to the side and sat up, glaring at me as he climbed out of the box.

"What are you doing down here, boy?" He asked. I'd say he snapped at me, except I really didn't hear any anger in his voice at my presence – just confusion, and his confusion bemused him, like he was watching a mouse run around inside a maze. If Victor was awake, that had to mean it was dark outside. I hadn't meant to sleep for so long – an hour, maybe two at most. Now, I'd gone an entire day without even eating. I felt quite foolish, but wasn't about to show it.

I got to my own feet and tried to look as much less like a 'boy' as I could.

"I refuse to sleep anywhere upstairs until an exterminator's been through this place. And, for that matter, until I can fix those walls." I actually did snap at him. I didn't mind – it made me feel more brave than I really was. And Victor, though he definitely didn't like it, didn't really seem to find it worthy of smacking me for it. It was almost like he got some sort of twisted, sick pleasure out of watching me bare my teeth at him, just for the sake of his own security that he could stop me any time he pleased.

Not about to just stand there and let him gloat over me, I hopped up the stairs and into the house. All the lights were still off, and when I flicked a switch, absolutely nothing happened as a result. My eyes hurt, straining to discern even the walls in the narrow hallways between large, empty rooms. The only way I was able to see anything was because a full moon was hanging outside and flooded all of the rooms with pale light through their broken windows.

"Victor, how the KRIFF do you LIVE here?" I shouted back over my shoulder as I almost tripped on one of the brooms I'd left propped up against the wall in the large den. I then proceeded to curse as I massaged my bruised shin.

"Vampires don't need light to see. I thought you knew what I was – anyone could have told you that we're nocturnal creatures." I could see Victor's silhouette in the doorway, but not the insufferable grin on his smug face. I didn't need to – his voice gave that away.

"Then, I suppose you can see the look I'm giving you – you don't need to imagine it." I snarled, giving him a glare that, in my imagination, would have been equivalent with making someone's head explode, "And I'm not talking about the lights – NOTHING in this piece of junk works. Your water pipes are probably a day away from leaking, no heat, no electricity, no remotely suitable plumbing... DEAD PEOPLE live in better kept houses than THIS!"

"Dead people don't live." Victor sounded like he wanted to sneer at me, but knew that it would make me angrier if he kept his tone mild. And, indeed, it did – my only intelligent response was to display an incredibly rude gesture that Captain Solo had made me learn. Victor didn't react – either because he was used to people swearing and cursing him, or because the gesture was more non-sensical on this planet.

"I don't care: Either this place has to be habitable, or I'll sleep on top of that casket down there – I'll crawl inside and sleep on your chest like a giant CAT, if I have to – for the entire time I'm here." I might have been shouting, but I didn't care. I was still tired and hungry and dirty and cranky and... "KARK IT! I have to work tonight!"

Victor hadn't moved from his spot as I sprinted up the steps as best I could in the pitch darkness and retrieved the knapsack I'd left on the floor in the room upstairs. A cockroach had decided to perch on top of it before I shook it off. I would only be able to wash in a sink – I didn't have any towels or soap to bathe properly, not this late at night.

"You have to be there at midnight, right?" Victor had just appeared in the door by the sink without my noticing, at all. I'd already pumped the handles and the water was running rusty, again, but at least it was just orange, instead of dark brown this time. I jumped and then had the sense to shut the door in his face before quickly pulling off my grimy shirt and replacing it with a gray turtleneck before Victor popped the door open again.

"Can't a guy get any privacy? And, yes – midnight is the start of my shift." I growled, thrusting my hands under the now clear and icy cold water. It made my skin smart before my fingers quickly went numb, before I splashed my face and rubbed enough through my scalp that it stopped itching.

"I'll walk you." I forgot to take a breath before this splash of water over my face and got a good bit up my nose. Sputtering, I wiped my eyes clear and stared at Victor where his silhouette rested against the doorframe.

"What?"

"To work. You'll need to learn how to get there from here, and you're hungry." Victor repeated, shrugging, "It's only nine – you've got a few hours to kill."

I continued to stare at him. It seemed so very wrong – almost a deja vu sort of wrong – for him to want to escort me anywhere. And, if I'd been thinking clearly, I would have known that I hadn't mentioned that I was hungry. There was no way he could have known that. But I didn't care – Victor had been right.

"And why do you care?" I demanded, returning to the sink and splashing my scalp one last time. When I straightened up, Victor quickly pushed me against the wall before I had a chance to react. His breath wasn't hot – not like normal people's – and, despite the darkness, I could see his features quite clearly with our proximity. Usually, he had very dark features. Tanned skin and monstrously dark hair and eyes. During moments like this, however, I could tell that he was a vampire. His skin was pale and yellowed, once again – that must have been why he'd looked that way at the bar – and his eyes were alive and livid, like the liquid in his irises was teamed with microscopic, racing sharks. Those fangs that disappeared and reappeared, seemingly at his own will, were stretching down past his lower lip like tusks.

"So am I." Oh.

A few minutes later, both of us were out on the dimly lit streets. I hadn't really realized how refined the properties were, most of it overshadowed by how horribly downtrodden Victor's was. Had he done that on purpose? Was it some sort of camouflage? Was it just neglect on his part? Or was there something else I wasn't thinking of?

_It's like some other home. Abandoned, crumbling, decaying._

Victor led me through the streets, eerily like a guide on a tour. With a sure hand, he pointed out markers on the streets, showed me along alleyways and guided me past more shops and cafes than I think I'd ever seen in my life. I kept one eye on the surroundings, but my other on Victor. It just didn't seem right that he was actually being considerate. No, more than not right – it was blatantly wrong. Something in my gut told me to keep my distance.

_Just waiting for you to trust. Waiting for a chance to sell you out. And you follow him, blindly. Sad little puppy._ Yo, brain? Shut up.

We stopped at a fast food chain for something called 'hamburgers'. Obviously, this raised many questions to my mind, but when I opened my mouth to ask them, Victor gave me a most withering glare that I figured it had probably been asked before. Victor had gotten nothing for himself, so I had two sandwiches – both thick with vegetables and sauces of unknown origin – and some variety of potatoes known as 'French Fries'.

"So? What do you think of our 'Earth food'?" Victor asked as I pulled a face halfway through chewing. I had to struggle to swallow my mouthful before I could answer.

"I think Banthas excrete solids more edible than this." Was my dignified response. Victor gave me one of those looks that could have been amusement, but could just as easily have been him sizing me up.

"Banthas?" He asked. I took a second bite – even with the nasty taste it left in my mouth, I was hungry. Only an idiot would pass up food when he was hungry, and if Victor was hungry, too, I'd need the red meat to keep my blood count properly high.

"They'd be about equivalent to elephants on this planet." I explained, pausing to study a glob of something white that had dripped out of the sandwich and onto my thumb. When I licked it off, it tasted mildly salty, but not too much so. At least something was edible in this hamburger.

"Right." Victor didn't sound terribly willing to believe me, "And... what planet are you from, again?"

"Shall I list them chronologically, or alphabetically?" I replied, taking my time to clean my other fingers of a spicy yellow sauce that was also leaking from my burger. Victor's upper lip curled. I could see a glint in his eyes, but damn if I knew what it meant.

"Why not start with the one you spent most of your life on?"

Interesting place to start. Why would he care about that? I scanned Victor's face for some sign of recognition – some clue to what his story might be. There was obviously more to this man than I could see off-hand, and it wasn't just his... what was the word for it? Vampirism? But it seemed like more – like there was a word for him being not Human.

_Monstrosity._

"Yavin 4." I finally said, when I was good and ready. I'd finished the first hamburger and started on the fries – these were at least something I could recognize in substance, even if they'd been prepared in an eccentric fashion.

"What kind of planet is that?" Victor even seemed earnestly interested in hearing. I couldn't even understand why – even an honest answer wasn't all that fascinating.

"A moon, actually – the planet Yavin is a gas giant, so only the moons are habitable, and Yavin 4 is actually the first of only three that can support life." I distractedly crunched the French fries between my teeth and let the salty bites roll around on my tongue, "As far as terrain goes, most of it's a very tropical climate, but I'd assume the poles are colder. I'd never been anywhere other than the City and the Alliance base, for the time it was there."

"The City?" I didn't need to look up from the fries to see the sneer on Victor's face, "There was only one on this moon?"

"Inside it. The Lost City of the Jedi, hidden underground."

This time, I did pause. Victor's face remained completely blank, but I could definitely feel something – I hesitate to say it was through the Force, but I got a sixth sense of what was going through Victor's mind. He understood what I'd just said. It hadn't all been babble, indecipherable because he didn't know the city name or anything. He'd actually attached a significance to what I'd said.

...Had he... met another Jedi, somewhere, before?

"That's the only city on this moon? You just spent years underground and didn't bother living somewhere else?" He finally asked. I didn't reply in favor of taking a gulp of water.

"What do you want? I was only a kid – I didn't see another Human until I was twelve and decided to run away." I left out mentioning who the first Human I ever met WAS. It was still a personal, private memory that I was determined to guard. And, by now, I'd mostly figured out that Victor was trying to find something to needle me with. If he was going to play mind-games, I wasn't about to let him use Luke against me.

"Ah, yes; the rebellious years of childhood." He agreed, still watching me like my discomfort was amusing, "And after that?"

"I joined the Alliance. Or, I would have, if I wasn't still a kid, then. But I did become a member, of sorts, and followed them as the war against the Empire started to close out." I lifted the cup for another long sip, except I heard Victor sneer as I mentioned the Empire.

For the first time that night, I met his eyes. His were dark and turbulent, and in them, I could see a gleam of cruelty, like (_Kadann)_ the eyes of a soldier who had killed so many enemies, he couldn't go on without killing again.

_Well, he is a vampire. He probably has killed people before now, like predators have to kill to eat their prey._

"Rebels." Was all Victor really said. And he said it in the same tone as an Imperial would have called me 'Rebel scum'. I sat up a bit straighter and looked him square in the eye.

"No, my friend – Revolutionaries."

Victor said nothing more and I finished the second hamburger – it went down easier, maybe because it was preferable to having to talk to Victor, or maybe because I'd already eaten one and gotten used to it. I didn't mind – it gave me time to think. And, really, thinking was all I could do at this point, given Victor's unnerving silence.

I think what bothered me most was that I didn't know if I could think of Victor as a neutral force, a possible friend, or an enemy that I'd willingly put myself before. He was a hunter – his methodical and precise tracking of me had shown me that – but that didn't say anything for character. I'd turned hunter on him, myself, and I didn't know the full extent of what he would have done if he hadn't caught me.

And, for that matter, why he'd wanted to catch me, at all. Was he just being cautious? That wasn't a bad thing, if he really thought I might have harmed him or turned him in. Was he curious? I guess that would make sense – I found him equally intriguing and I'd been more than willing to step out into harms way, just to find an answer to the puzzle. But what if Victor had been determined to catch me just because he was a sadistic, self-centered monster? What if all he wanted was to torture me, play with me, and then get rid of me?

_He's no match for you. You can take him. _ Probably. At least, I hoped. If I really did need to fight for my life, I had a weapon that he couldn't defend against. And, really, if he was just doing this for his own, sick amusement, I could watch for signs. I could play this game.

_You could CRUSH him. _Where did that come from?

_It is true, though. All it would take is a little push... _I felt something in my stomach lurch – either because I was imagining the image, or because I'd unconsciously used a little bit of my Force powers... _And you could squeeze his skull like a rotten fruit._

I took a bigger, almost impossible to chew, bite from the hamburger, trying to tell myself that I hadn't just thought of it.

Chapter 10

Victor

Jedi. Jedi. I'd HEARD that before. I wasn't sure where, but I did know that it was familiar enough to my ears. For some reason, when I heard it, I drew a connection to monks of some sort. But there was no such thing as a Jedi priest or a Jedi monk.

I'd know – any orders that had risen from the fanaticism around Joshu, I'd made sure to defile each one.

Of course, I knew I wasn't going to get any answers about it from Ken. The boy had gone auspiciously silent, finishing his hamburgers. I let him, but my own appetite was growing harder to control.

I half-followed, half-led him down Canal street, pushing him into an alley to feed just a block away from the warehouse. Ken didn't struggle – he didn't even seem to feel any pain when I sunk my fangs into his throat and siphoned off a liter. There was a different perk to his blood this time, more of a salty bite, less of a sweet tang, and the skin on his neck was soft like a fleshy fruit. When I released him, Ken staggered and limped as he walked, but made it to the door without my support.

My night was spent in a bookstore, of all things. I browsed through books on religion – perhaps there was a connection to Buddhism or Taoism that I'd thought of – before moving through history, philosophy, and culture studies. Nowhere, could I find any mention of Jedi, a Jedi history, Jediism, a Jediist... anything that I could think it might appear as. And, given the late hour of the night, the store was close to closing and there were few people inside. Few enough that I wasn't going to be able to ask someone without seeming strange.

Strange would make me memorable. I needed to stay anonymous.

I knew better than to look through the physical science books for some mention of any of the planets or the creatures Ken had mentioned. That still left me with little to no way to learn anything more about Ken.

Sometime around one in the morning, the store closed and I returned to the house, surveying exactly what Ken had done during the day. I hadn't even noticed, but any grime or filth left on the walls or floor had been scrubbed away. It didn't change that the place was still falling apart, but it was completely fresh and clean. And the boy hadn't even spent a full twenty-four hours in it.

If I couldn't find any information on him from any outside sources, I would have to look at what I could see. No longer disturbing dust, I mounted the stairs and found Ken's bag, still by the door in the room he'd left. It was nothing remarkable – he only had clothes packed away inside it. Nothing like a journal, no photographs, no personal possessions...

My hand felt something cold and hard in the bottom of the bag, after I'd finished digging out all his garments. When I pulled it out to examine, it was a metal cylinder, only a little shorter than two hand-lengths. It didn't seem terribly personal, nor even all that important – if anything, it looked like a flashlight, and with that in mind, I made sure it was facing away from me as I pressed the button and switched it on.

The handle vibrated and made a snap-hiss as a single, glowing beam of pure silver light shot from the end. It didn't even shoot out like a laser – it looked more like the end of a glow stick that someone had just activated. I recognized it as the flash of light that had seared off my arm on my first encounter with Ken, but still didn't understand it. Just seeing the weapon made me even more confused, and again gave me the sensation that I'd heard and seen the Jedi before.

Why I connected this odd weapon to the word Jedi, I didn't understand. If anything, a religious order would be disassociated with weapons.

I switched the weapon off and returned all the items back into Ken's bag – I still remembered the sting of the blade. Frustrated and irritable, I left the house again and returned to the French Quarter, perusing the emptying streets for someone alone and easy.

A tattooed boy in leather pants caught my eye, sitting on the steps to a church and smoking a joint. His innocent eyes twinkled at me as I smiled and offered an arm, guiding him away from the street and into the shadows.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The next few nights were more or less peaceful. Ken would either go to work, or slept most hours after cleaning and repairing the house. The next night, I'd risen as early as I could and promptly contacted a furniture shop for appropriate pieces that my human guest would need, and then I'd went on to contact a building supplies warehouse. Even over the phone, the workman had seemed puzzled why I wouldn't want a team to come for the repairs instead of doing it myself, but I didn't care – I still found it amusing that Ken was more than willing to do all of this on his own.

And he did, indeed. I awoke on the second night he was in the house and found all the plaster in the walls knocked down and the insulation replaced. Ken was asleep on the floor in the living room, a re-plastering knife still in his hand. The third, I came out of the cellar to be shocked back down by the bright lights flooding the house. The fourth, I didn't even recognize the front door, let alone the hall and rooms it led to.

Ken kept to his word about food. Every night, I drank from his wrist or elbow, occasionally from his throat when he didn't have to be at work later, and he stayed more or less out of my way. Granted, feeding in small amounts every night was far from satisfying, but there were always the streets.

Besides, Ken had made it abundantly clear that he was not mine to have. There were always hustlers and prostitutes I could use when I was unsatisfied.

The trouble began in the second week. I'd kept clear of Ken as long as I had no information about him, mostly spending early evenings in bookstores and other information pubs, trying to dig up any clues about Jedi (Use of a computer might have helped, save for the fact that libraries closed well before sundown in New Orleans, and it seemed stupid to buy a computer that I would use once.) As such, I had little to no idea what kind of hobbies or interests the boy was keeping.

When I led my partner of choice that night through the front door, I found Ken wrestling with a hammer and several bookshelves. I hadn't expected it – Ken usually had the lights on when he was in, which was why I'd avoided being at the house as much as possible when he was there. Tonight, the living room was only lit with a table lamp that was resting on the floor.

"Who's he?" He was a younger man I'd found in a bar with his shirt open, exposing a pierced nipple in the heat. From the glaze on his eyes and the limp in his step, I'd guessed he was drugged, and it had been easy to coax him to the house. Leaning heavily on me, he gestured at Ken with a limp hand.

"Don't mind me; I'm just a mooch." Ken replied, not even turning away from his task.

"The crazy roommate. He thinks he used to live in a Jedi city." I remarked, throwing the barb as casually as I could. I didn't see Ken react, but the boy on my arm started sniggering.

"Star Wars is a movie, jackass! Them Jedi ain't real."

Star Wars! Why hadn't I remembered it, sooner? I might not have really seen the movies, but I had heard about the Jedi at least at one point. Nobody could have not heard about them. At any rate, I wasn't about to forget it, again.

For the moment, though, Ken straightened up and actually set down his hammer before turning and offering a reply.

"If you don't mind my asking, SIR, when's the baby due?"

Even drugged, the boy found offense at that. Without bothering with further talk, he staggered out, not even caring which way he went out of the house. Which left me, still unsatisfied, alone with Ken, whom had turned back to his physical labor.

He had no right to look as surprised as he did when I grabbed him and threw him onto his back. I had a hand around his throat and the other one tearing at his clothes. Buttons popped off his shirt as it gave way. Fuck it, anyway, I thought. My unease would disappear if I could just take him as I pleased. And he'd stop resisting me when I got him on his knees. He'd be begging me not to stop.

I'd forgotten the hammer Ken had been wielding. It smashed into my face with more force than a full speed train. I went flying backwards, I might have even been bleeding from my nose, I was so dazed that I couldn't tell. In a moment, it was over and I was back on my feet, but Ken had also straightened, either not noticing or not caring that his shirt had been ripped clean open. In both hands, he held that weapon of his. It's blade was extended and gleamed silver like some kind of unnatural fire.

The both of us stared at each other. Ken was wearing that look again: His chin tucked and a small grin over his lips, shadows thrown across half his face that gave him a menace I wouldn't have thought possible for someone so young. At the same time, he was perfectly serious. As though the insane smile on his face were a plaster fixture, kept still by perfect control and concentration.

Finally, I stepped back. I didn't know if I could win in a fight against him, but that was enough – not knowing was enough to tell me not to risk it. Any other person, from prey with a fighting spirit to a federal agent on my tail, I'd all known that I could win in a fight. It was the first time I'd had real doubt.

"Victor." Ken said, quietly. He was pointing the tip of his laser sword at me, like a pointer. I put a hand up – not surrendering, but as close as I was willing to come.

"Fine. Do what you want – I'll leave." I said, stepping backwards and towards the door.

"No." Ken held his saber to the side, still ignited, and reached into his pocket. Out of it, came a small pocket knife. It couldn't have been big enough or sharp enough to actually do any damage. Even to a mortal opponent, the most would have been a small flesh wound. Without a word, Ken put the handle in his mouth and pried the blade out with his fingernails.

Before I could even ask what he wanted, Ken sliced his arm. With my eyes, I could see three drops of blood welling up from the cut, and I could smell the aroma. It made my stomach writhe and my mouth water, only serving to remind me that I hadn't fed yet, that night.

Ken held his arm out, letting the beading blood dribble out, onto the floor. When he opened his mouth to speak, the knife dropped from between his teeth and the blade planted into the floor.

"Go on." Ken's voice was soft, but the way he stood seemed to speak, entirely on it's own. He was perfectly calm, like he hadn't felt any amount of pain. Like he had no fear.

I kept backing away until I was at enough of a distance that I felt safe to turn my back and walk out of the house.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Ken would always be waiting for me when I rose from my coffin. The first nights of November, he was always on the couch in the living room, usually with a book propped open. I think I only actually drank from him once, and that was only because the night before, I had forgotten to feed before returning home. Instead, I spent my nights out. I researched the fictional world that Ken claimed he was from: Books, movies, guides. If Ken had any suspicions or disdain for my occupation of one of his bookshelves – which now lined several rooms in the house, all filled with any kind of book from history to biology to philosophy – he said nothing of it.

I killed for the first time since my first weeks in New Orleans. I'd found a girl in her early teens wandering around the Inner City, still reeking of sex and with a belly that was most likely not from any sort of weight gain. I'd led her into a public bathroom in a sex club, then pounced on her throat when she was finished servicing me. It had been the most satisfying feed I'd had in what must have been months.

Every last drop of her blood had invigorated me like caffeine does a normal human. I lasted six nights on it, before going out to feed again.

In the meantime, I learned a great deal about the places Ken had called home.

If he'd been telling me the truth, then he came from a galaxy in the middle of a civil war. At least, that was how the stories described it – what I saw was a group of insurgent rebels attempting to overthrow a great Empire. And, as the stories were fiction based on an American's weak sentimentality, I knew that it would end with the Rebels victorious and freeing the oppressed planets. Unrealistic, at best, and if it weren't so important for me to know my enemy, I would have thrown the books down in disgust.

Still, it gave me an accurate picture of Ken's character. He'd grown up with this kind of a war, and, as he'd praised the rebels and claimed to have traveled with their bases, he was from the kind of naïve idealism that saw Empires as nothing more than monsters and machines of death. I actually started wondering if the boy had ever stopped to consider that Empires brought better economies, government stability, and technology.

In short, I knew now that I was dealing with little more than a little upstart, barely on par with the rabble of a mob of Jews attempting to drive the Romans out of Jerusalem until the soldiers put down their riots. That did a great deal to ease my nerves. I could deal with him, psychologically if not physically.

I returned to a dark and empty house at one in the morning. Ken had left a note saying he had work, and he had something he wanted to talk with me about, tomorrow night. That suited me fine – I could prepare for a fight during the night. Little bastard thought I was a pet he could control just because he had some kind of laser sword. I'd find immense pleasure in tearing down that foolish pride.

"Victor." Joshu was standing in the hallway. His body was browned and clothed in the loincloth that had been his only decency on the cross. His arms were at his sides and blood streamed down his face.

I had to hold myself up against the door. I wanted to turn and flee, but my legs wouldn't obey me.

"Victor, you're running out of time." He pleaded. I turned my face away, the sight of him too painful to bear, even after all this time.

"No, Joshu!" I shouted, "I have had enough of it! I'm sick of your pious trash, of your garbage about heaven and salvation! Just leave me alone!"

One of his smooth, browned arms extended towards me. The stigmata was like a beacon for my eyes, a burned center between his long fingers.

"You're in danger." He repeated.

"From WHAT?" I demanded. His voice reached through my ears and into my chest, pulling tight that buckle around my heart that I'd long thought had disappeared. No, come to think of it, it had. This wasn't old agony – this was new. My old love for Joshu was gone. All that I could think of now what how much I hated him, for condemning me to this kind of existence. If he hadn't been there, two-thousand years ago, I would have continued on as a soldier in the Roman army. I would have risen through the ranks, to glory and honor, like I'd been meant for. Or, if he hadn't rejected me, I wouldn't have had to go through this whole damned existence, always running, never getting what I wanted.

"The Dark Kingdom." Was his answer.

I wanted to scoff. I'd known they would start looking for me, sooner or later. I'd defied their rules. I'd remained in the mortal sphere, even after making Paul a vampire. A vampire was supposed to depart for the eternal realm of the Dark Kingdom when he'd made his replacement on earth. I'd refused – and would continue to refuse, after what they'd done to myself and Paul.

"Let them try anything. I've resisted them for this long, and I don't need you to help me or warn me. I don't want your help! I don't want your salvation!"

Joshu just continued to look at me. I couldn't meet his gaze. I didn't want to – not to see the look in his eyes that was always pained, always so desperate to hand out his self-righteous brand of love that always could manipulate me.

"They are coming for you."

I looked up to snarl at him, but Joshu was gone, leaving me alone in the hallway. In his place, a cold foreboding had returned, and it chilled me from my skin to my bones.

I'd actually thought, for a moment, that I hated Joshu. I had never thought that – never even given the thought a brief consideration. I was lonely and bitter and angry and hurt... but it was that damned God. That possessive, stoic, unrelenting God that had taken Joshu from me. I hated Him. Not Joshu. Never Joshu.

Not MY Joshu.

_They might already be here._

Chapter 11

Ken

Personally, I don't think I'm that difficult as a person to get along with. I could be wrong – Captain Solo always did say I talked too much, and after discovering... well, after the news about Mister Triclops and, subsequently, myself, became public knowledge, Princess Leia had always been quick to tell me when she spotted a fault. But I'd curbed my need to spout off whatever I was thinking. And, from lack of people to talk to, I'd like to think I'd stopped running at the mouth, altogether.

So, at first, I was a little confused with Victor's reluctance to be in the same room with me any longer than absolutely necessary. I wouldn't say it bothered me – not precisely – but it did make me start thinking. In that sort of way when, even if it's someone you don't like or know, if someone refuses to look you in the eye when speaking with you, it easily offends you.

My solution was to start looking through research materials on anthropology of this planet. And, once I'd made a thorough study of that, I moved on to history, geography, cultural studies, and philosophy. Each little bit of information that I took in felt like a new gear or cog was being added to the circuitry in my brain. It would have been pretty cool, if I wasn't so unsure of what I was looking for, in terms of a question and an answer.

At long last, I came to the conclusion that Victor was the one who was difficult to please. Not me.

I hadn't been blind, nor stupid. Things were always disturbed in the house whenever I came back from work, and Victor was out so frequently at night that I had a fair idea of what he was doing. And, since he also hadn't fed on me since the first week (During which, it had been either every day or every other day) I knew he was feeding, somewhere else.

As for why, I understood well enough when I saw an entire shelf occupied with that title 'Star Wars'. Up until then, I'd mostly been content to ignore the fictional series. He wanted to know something about me. Either history, or some sort of game to use against me.

I wasn't terribly worried: I'd forced myself to read through a single book and found it riddled with errors – though, admittedly minor details, but errors are errors, no matter how you pretty it up – about the war, the technology, even the people fighting in them. Either way, I was fairly confident that I wouldn't appear in any of them – mine was the kind of story that got relegated to a footnote in history texts. I mean, I'd only hung around the Alliance for a matter of months before... well...

The only way anybody would bother going into detail with me would be if I actually killed someone, and then some psychologist or genealogist would use it as fodder for their theory of why children whose parents have criminal tendencies were more likely to become criminals, themselves. In any case, I knew that, for all the coincidences of these books following our galaxy's history, I wouldn't show up in any of them.

(A/N: Ha ha. It's funny 'cuz we all know how WRONG he is.)

I also did some investigation into Victor's nature as a vampire. Legends and accounts circulated by other humans were all well and good, but I needed solid, concrete evidence. I tested many ideas as subtly as I could – much as I got the impression that Victor wasn't a genius, it would be fairly obvious if I just shoved a bulb of garlic in his face to see if he reacted, and either way, I had induced that he was smart enough to know how to play the fool, or to pretend that something might affect him to give me a false sense of security.

Given that I had nothing but my wits as my line of defense, there would be no such thing as being too prepared.

I'd rubbed garlic juice on almost any surface in the house and put a clove of it in the pockets of several of Victor's jeans. He never even commented on it. Garlic: Non-effective.

Any spot where I could put a vase or some sort of decoration, I did. In it, hawthorn and wild roses. Supposedly, they harmed vampires. Victor walked right past them, not even giving them a passing glance. And, from the quality of his disinterest, I could tell it was genuine – not like his discreet scrutiny of my movements. Hawthorn and wild rose: Non-effective.

Another one – this one was incredibly peculiar, but I wasn't about to talk when I came from a world where a variety of bats had evolved that could survive in the vacuum of space – was a common belief that vampires all suffered from some form of arithmomania. According to these, a bag of poppy or millet seeds or sand would be spilled and the vampire would be forced to spend all night counting them. In another, the folklorist asserted that laying a broom across the doorstep would prevent the vampire from crossing the threshold, because they would be obsessed with counting all the bristles.

I tested the broom theory. All it did was cause Victor to trip and curse at me – probably the most words he'd directed my way all week.

I also tried the poppy and millet seeds, both attributed to messy kitchen accidents when Victor came up from the cellar and gave me a curious stare as I was sweeping the mess up.

Arithmomania: Non-effective.

Other legends were spot on. I went out and found myself a great deal of electronic equipment, including a few cameras, microphones, speakers, and a kind of comlink that Earth people called a 'cell phone' (_Victor, _I thought as I handed over a nasty sum in the quadruple digits for a foldable computer, _If you don't want me to cause you problems, you shouldn't leave your credit cards just laying around._) According to folk tales, vampires could not be seen in mirrors, and fiction from more recent decades claimed that vampires didn't appear on film.

I knew that Victor didn't have a reflection – I'd discovered that on our first encounter, and he hadn't seen any reason to hide it from me, since I'd put up a mirror in the hall and he never glanced at it out of how utterly useless it would have been. The film claim also stood when I, ahem, DOCUMENTED the stages of repairing and renovating the house and managed to, ahem, ACCIDENTALLY capture Victor in a few of those shots.

Nothing appeared where he was standing – it was as though the camera lens had gone right through him.

A similar result came from any digital equipment that I used. During an evening when I was particularly bored, I'd put on a sweatshirt I'd borrowed from Marcus and followed Victor with a camera. He hadn't shown up on the screen, but when he'd plucked a woman out of the crowd on Orleans Avenue, she'd taken his arm. On the camera, she might as well have been pantomiming.

This gave me an idea. Of course, I had to wait for daylight, and for Victor to be very solidly asleep. When I pried the lid off of his coffin (Which had to weigh at least a kilogram. How did undertakers manage these things?) and found him still and his eyes closed, I set to work.

That night, I left a camera on and watching the door to the cellar as casually as possible. In the living room, I watched the feed on my computer. Sure enough, I saw Victor emerge from the cellar – though it was more like watching a floating cloud of skin-toned dust move around.

Then, a second idea came to mind: I'd felt for myself that Victor was different from other Humans. His skin was ice cold, and he didn't seem to have the same sorts of living signals as a normal person. So... what if that could somehow be traced through means other than colors and shapes?

I tested this, too. It worked better than my 'apply make-up to Victor's face and track that visual cue' trick. Besides, if Victor were to do anything – wash his face, take off his clothes, any number of little accidents – I'd lose track. Tracking him with infrared and detecting the sharp drop in temperature around his person was much more accurate. And, after reading about Earth submarines and air fighters, I added sonar to the list.

That made things even easier.

Also, in my research, both of Victor's vampiric nature, and of the planet's history in general, I came to another conclusion: There was a single event which had driven Victor to his existence as a vampire. Not only that, but the event had had such an impact that it had influenced every year of his... maybe life was not the right word, but non-death perhaps? It had influenced how he'd gone about existing, hiding, and surviving.

For one thing, he was too focused. Someone who might have decided to become a vampire just to avoid dying or something of the like, psychology would dictate that they would be more erratic, less active. It would be closer to that of someone who just didn't know what to do with themselves.

Victor definitely had a goal. There was a specific purpose he wanted to accomplish.

Furthermore, he'd been around for an indescribably long period of time on a planet that hadn't had a single continuous government in any province for any longer than a few hundred years, at most. That would mean he would have had to have hid in some place completely free of suspicions and scrutiny for just that long.

On this planet, that kind of description pointed to religious orders. I sighed when I read about the fervor that Earth people protected their beliefs with. It seems that some things are universal, no matter where you go or who you ask.

The final push – final key to my puzzle, I guess – came when I went to investigate a place of worship. It was a chapel in a lush, green field. The walls were stunningly white stone, and long rows of tall, beautifully colored windows lined the walls. On the inside, everything was inlaid with wood; the doors, the pillars, the roof and the tresses, the ceiling and the vaults, the lining of the windows, the ruts in the carpeted floor that ran up to a set of steps, then a wide and deep chamber at the other end, the benches that lined the floor of the main room, the tables in virtually every corner of the building, and the frames around recesses in the wall that had little sculptures, wooden statues, or carefully painted montages.

_Strange thing, these churches._ I thought. But not without their own appeal, aesthetically. They were simple, but at the same time, complex. And, according to most sources, a majority of churches and temples on this planet were not built with machines like their great structures or even living apartments were. Places like these were built, completely by hand.

Thinking like that made me appreciate the architecture a bit more.

What fascinated me, though, was how utterly silent it was. There was something else about this silence. For the first few hours, I sat on one of the benches, letting the light from a piece of rose-colored glass warm my eyelids, just listening to how quiet it was. But, as I stayed there, I started to hear things – any little click or pop, it was magnified to my ears. It might have had to do with the church's construction – the arch of the ceiling was so smooth that any little noise was magnified and echoed straight into my brain.

Then, it really occurred to me that the place wasn't just silent – it was DEAD silent. I could still hear little things, and, if I really strained, I heard the sounds of the city outside the building's walls. But there was something that I wasn't hearing that I was used to hearing. I couldn't even figure out what it was.

I decided that, for all their artistic, economic, and cultural value, I really didn't like churches that much.

Still, I stayed in that one all day, working with the computer. My thoughts more than made up for the silence, even though it bugged me.

First off, Victor was deliberately playing a game with me. I didn't know why, nor exactly what, but I did know that he wanted something out of me. If it was information, I wasn't about to give that to him.

But maybe it wasn't information – maybe he was looking to be interested. Thinking back to the week just before I'd confronted him, that whole game of cat and mouse we'd played, I didn't think I recalled seeing him go out of his way to hurt anyone, except as a strategical advantage to manipulate me.

Because I'd been interesting.

Because I'd amused him. Because I'd entertained him.

What if I could get him to do that, again? Yeah, for that to work, he'd have to start paying attention to me. What were the odds of that?

Well, nobody like a Corellian to say that odds were there to be beaten.

Maybe... if I could somehow get his attention, and then make it clear that I had it in my power, not just to keep him from harming me, but to actually beat him in a real fight...

Yes... The idea seemed to fold itself out. Maybe I'd already been setting up the planning stages... maybe the temptation had been there since day one, but never really given a straight outlet to put all the data I'd obtained to useful purpose. It was as though all those extra gears in my brain were turning for the first time, engaging my mind in an entirely different gear of motion and thought.

Thinking about it excited me. It actually got my competitive spirit going – something I don't think I'd really felt before. It was like being given a difficult task for schooling or for a job, but it being given to me in such a way that it felt more like a game. And the thrill of doing it would be just as great if I succeeded or failed, simply because there was a thrill to it.

Somewhere over my head, I heard a clanging noise, harsh and solidly metallic. I looked up towards the ceiling, wondering where it was coming from. Underneath my wondering, another little detail to my idea came to mind, fitting in with every other part, perfectly. It was exhilarating, to just be able to think, and this euphoric sense of victory came over me.

"Young'un, what're you doing in here?" I turned around to see a middle aged man, completely in black except for a little slice of white on his shirt's collar. From the look on his face, to the fact that he had his arms full of a crate of papers, I could only assume that I was somewhere that I wasn't supposed to be.

I folded my computer up and offered a smile.

"I just needed a place to think for a while." I stood, nodding my head like a bow. The man raised an eyebrow at me – maybe he thought he recognized me, or maybe it was because he DIDN'T recognize me and he thought he should have, "Sorry to intrude."

About halfway to the door, the man spoke up, again.

"Have I seen you at mass? I could have sworn I'd seen your face before." I paused, then turned around. I wasn't sure what it was, but I just didn't like this guy. And he wasn't even doing anything. I didn't like him... just because he was there. Because he was talking to me when I didn't want to be spoken to.

Just because. It seemed like as good a reason as any to be irritable with someone.

"I doubt it. I don't come." I replied, offering a wave as I walked away, "Thanks. I was able to get a lot done."

"May God bless your day." The man's voice called just as I pushed the door open and let it slam behind me. The words seemed foreign to me. It made me think of Miss Kendalina, and how, any time I brought up theology or religious studies, she'd scoff and sneer at me.

"_Right. Believing in something when you've got absolutely no proof, aside from some anecdotes that have been twisted and mutilated beyond all reason so they fit whatever point you're trying to make; and when there is all the proof in the galaxy that proves you WRONG, but still clinging to that single, untrue supposition – THAT'S praiseworthy. Someone just discovered where all the universe as we know it came from? Oh, too bad – we've got a guy with FAITH over here. Give HIM a karking medal!"_

I stopped when I ran, face-first, into a tree. It seemed to awaken me from my daze, and only then did I realize that I was shaking. I was back outside, and the blissful quiet that had disturbed me and calmed me at the same time was gone. The sound was back on, full blast, and with it, so were my thoughts.

_What am I THINKING? _I wondered. This plan I'd come up with – the one that had been so beautiful and perfect, just moments ago inside the church – was now a shambled mess. Oh, I remembered it, and all the little details it would take to put it into action.

_But WHY?_ It seemed petty, even pointless. And, really, all it would do was get Victor angry with me, and when that happened... ugh... I could protect myself with my lightsaber, well enough, but if anything happened to it – a short out, a malfunction, my energy pack ran out – I would be very, very screwed.

I sat down under the tree I'd just bumped into. It was warm enough, the sun was out and baking the ground and I'd put on a heavy enough jacket to guard against the wind. That wasn't the only thing that had me distressed. It was the feeling I'd had while coming up with this idea. I'd... I'd LIKED it. I almost felt dirty for liking it. Little muscles all inside my body, like the ones lining my stomach and veins and arteries, all felt like they were shivering and twitching.

And I really wanted more of that. But thinking that way made me feel sick – like wanting to take a dose of painkiller to stop a headache, but knowing that it would burn the lining right off your stomach and make you bleed from the inside out if you took another dose.

_Except it's not a drug. That was all you. It's inside you. A part of you._

I had to put my head between my knees for a second as I thought it over. It seemed stupid to get all worked up over a few minutes of evil genius, especially when it had all been pretty harmless.

_You should, though. Teach him a lesson. It's all he deserves, and if you end up taking an arm or something off, it's not like he's a saint. He's a killer. He'd deserve to be punished._

No, not thinking that way – first part, why would I want to do this plan, and did that justify any bad consequences?

Well, for the most part, I was just thinking because I was bored. On the other hand, I was also nervous. Victor was letting me stay in his house as part of our bargain, but if he didn't need me for food or anything, that made my half of the deal a little too precarious.

Then, there was the fact that, for as long as I just sat around and did nothing, it put other people at risk. Victor could go back to feeding on innocent people or doing damage without any fear of repercussions. If I was able to stop him... If I could stop him from harming even one person, then...

_He made you go back on your vow._ That one had been nagging at me for a while, but I'd mostly ignored it. Each time I'd encountered Victor – and, I thought, but it might have been my imagination, during our actual physical contests – I'd had to draw on the Force, in some way or another. Our first encounter, I'd had to used the Force to push him out of my mind – what that had been, I still wasn't sure, but it had seemed like a Jedi Mind Trick, except... well, not Jedi. Then, to heal the girl. And, whenever we got into a fist fight, I usually ended up using the Force, just subconsciously, to supplement my muscle strength.

_It's not your fault, though – Victor's the reason you have to lean on the Force, so much._ It did aggravate me. But more than seeing it as a reason to hate him, I just really... resented him. That was the word.

_Who said what he does to anyone else is any of your business? _ Well, I said it was my business. _What do you owe anyone else? _After all, I was living in the same house as this potential killer. _Why not just kick the bastard's ass for your own, damn self? _If I really needed any reason, for all I knew, he could get in some legal trouble, which would cause trouble for me. Or he could turn on me, if he really got hungry one night.

There. A nice, solid, logical excuse to be an altruistic vigilante against my landlord-slash-roommate. Take THAT, voice in the back of my head.

_One day..._ "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!"

Feeling like I'd swallowed a whole chunk of ice, I picked up my computer and headed for the house. I had work to do, if I was going to take Victor on. And I'd only have a day to do it.

Chapter 12

Victor

When I awoke the next night, Ken was nowhere in the house. The only sign that he'd been there during the day was a little note under my door, and when I opened it, the smell of Ken's blood hit me, full force.

_Catch me, if you can_ was written on it, in scraggly letters that were a rusty brown instead of the color of any ink. And, on the door, a bloody handprint was left over the handle. Deliberately. Like bait.

I wanted to smirk. He thought he could outwit me.

"Alright, then." I agreed, crumpling the piece of paper up. Even though it was early in the night, the wind was picking up, keeping the air cool and disturbing what would have been an otherwise clean scent of the trail Ken had left.

The mark was repeated on trees and lampposts into the French Quarter. I followed down the same street that Ken had lived on before moving in at the house, then into a club on Bourbon Street. One, Ken had even had the gall to draw an arrow in his blood. Inside, I wondered if he thought I was a dog of some sort, just deliberately leaving scent marks like this. If I wasn't already familiar with the drunk inhabitants of New Orleans, I'd wonder how anyone couldn't realize there was blood splattered every few meters on the walls.

The last handprint he'd left was on a table inside the club – difficult for my senses to locate, when there were already so many people inside, crowding the dance floor and bar and disorienting me. Any of them could have been easy prey, but I was far too intrigued in Ken's game to worry about that. Besides, it wasn't even midnight yet – I could worry about feeding later on.

On the table, next to the handprint, there was a note with my name written on it.

_Just a simple treasure hunt._ I thought, disdainfully, opening the folded piece of paper.

_Ask the bartender if anyone's turned anything in._

I blinked at the paper for several minutes before finally going over to the bar and asking just that question. A large, beefy man with a tattoo across his face, he simply reached under the counter and shoved a cellphone across the top. It wasn't even particularly impressive. I'd seen other examples of communication, even considered purchasing a cellphone for myself, given how much trouble I had dealing with contractors or other businesses for my after business hours needs, and I'd always considered something that would have as many different functions as I could find. This thing was old and cumbersome.

And rang the moment I picked it up. I let it ring three times, wondering how anyone could have such perfect timing, before I answered.

"About time you picked up, Victor. Most people would assume the person isn't there after three rings." Ken's voice jabbed at me over the connection. I wanted to sneer at him and scold him for impatience – considering that he'd told me the same thing for showing up early for an arranged meeting. I told him as much, "That was different – when someone specifies an exact time, you've got no excuse for being late or early."

I laughed at his high-minded logic. It was petty, and frankly, I'd expected something better.

"So, you left a few notes and cheap tricks and thought it would somehow be a fit challenge, boy? Give me one reason why I shouldn't just walk away, right now." He had to still be bleeding. He'd be easy to find, especially since I knew this city well enough to know any places he could be hiding. And, if he decided to fight back, I could use what I'd learned about him, personally, against him.

"How about all the details of the destruction of St. Thomas Abbey, Tennessee in the Earth year two-thousand one?" Instinctively, I sat straight up. I hadn't thought of St. Thomas in years, and the idea of anyone knowing it had any significance for me was inconceivable.

"What about it?" I muttered, standing up and walking away from another patron at the bar who had been giving me the eye. Over the phone, I heard Ken chuckling.

"For about a year before, there were strings of murders in Knoxville and the mountains surrounding it. After several months, investigators from the federal government came to find the killer. All of them were killed, along with every monk in the abbey, and the monastery was burned to the ground. Nobody ever found out who did it. Or why. And nobody, but nobody, ever would have suspected that it was a monk with a personal grudge against the very god he pretended to worship."

I quickly strode for the exit. The heat of the club was growing stifling and sweaty, and I needed the cool air. It wasn't much of a difference, but it gave me something to do. And, outside, I had a better chance of tracking him. Breathing deeply, I took in as much of the scent of Ken's blood, still strong to my senses.

"And... where are you going with this?" I hoped I sounded disinterested. Ken's spot-on description of the situation unnerved me more than I had expected.

"Victor, I'm an agent of justice. You should know that, by now. Someone like you, whom has killed innocent people – actually broken into homes, killed children, the weak, the sick, those who never stood a chance at defending themselves against you, tortured them, even went as far as rape... Surely, you don't expect me to stand by and let you go?"

My hand tightened around the phone. I had to remind myself not to crush the thing, or I would lose connection with Ken. I pressed it tightly against my ear.

"What do you want?" I hissed. The longer I kept him talking, the better chance I had of figuring out where he was and catching him.

"Don't worry – nothing too difficult." He said. The way he put it, it almost sounded like he might have just been offering to treat a friend to lunch. I wanted to bare my fangs at him, for all the fury it instilled in me, "Just find me."

"That's IT?" I demanded, stopping in my tracks. I hadn't caught any scent, yet, so it seemed pointless to keep wandering, pointlessly. Ken's reply was whispered, though I couldn't tell why.

"It's not TOO hard, is it? I've left you a few clues, already. Don't tell me you can't infer from simple evidence."

I wouldn't tell him that I was just going to sniff him out. He didn't need any more advantages over me than he already had.

_But,_ I thought, as I eyed an athletic boy with long, dyed hair, coming out of a neighboring pool hall, _There is an advantage I could press._

"There are other people on this street, boy. What if I wasn't in the mood for your little games and just decided to entertain myself?"

"If you lay so much as a finger on any of those other party-goers, especially that boy who just came out of the club – his name's Joshua, by the way. Works full-time in a fast food restaurant and volunteers at the animal shelter every weekend. Nice kid – I'll take the information about St. Thomas to the local police. As well as how to destroy you. I'll do it myself, if I have to."

How did he know where I was, or that I was eyeing the boy (Joshua; of all the damned names, why did he have to be named Joshua?) or any of that information? Even if he was close at hand, that didn't explain how he knew all of the little details.

He was, indeed, playing this like a game. And he was playing to win. It unnerved me.

And it angered me. And excited me.

"Fine." I snarled, turning my back on the street and club, heading out to a less crowded area. I kept stopping for deep breaths, but the hour and the location still reeked of piss and beer.

"I'm glad you see it my way." Ken remarked, sounding incredibly bored. I switched hands with the cell and continued to sniff, finally catching a scent and following it, trying to think of anything else that would help me find Ken, just in case I lost it, again.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Around one in the morning, I found the end of the trail at an old church. This one was actually a real temple, as opposed to half the Baptist churches that were really inside an old house that nobody could make livable and putting a cross over it, saying that made it suitable for worship. The outside of the building was brick and stone, and the bell tower rose in the very center of it, an iron crucifix on the point of the roof.

Where other people might have taken it as a reminder to look towards heaven and God, I saw nothing more than a commanding hand that demanded mindless obedience from sub-standard, worthless subjects. Disgusted, I shoved the doors open, and found myself stopped, dead cold. The scent was gone. Absolutely nothing in this church could point towards Ken's location now.

"Victor? Are you just going to give up, then?" Maybe it was because the cell was right next to my ear, or maybe it was because of the shape of the church and it's utter dead silence, but Ken's voice seemed to echo all around me, "Funny, the way the shape of a few supporting beams and the ceiling material can actually alter how we perceive our senses. Sound bounces off all the right angles... it's sort of like an... echo chamber..."

I didn't reply, except to snarl at him.

"Was St. Thomas like this? What about San Benedetto, in Rome – here's a bit of trivia; a villain character in a French novel on this planet actually had the alias Benedetto. Dear Monsieur Dumas, is nothing outside your scope of irony? – Or what about St. Sylvester, in Boysville? I haven't seen any pictures of real monasteries on this planet, only of churches and chapels. How are they different?"

"Go to Hell!" I shouted. My voice made the glass in the windows ring and the candle-shaped light bulbs suspended from the ceiling shake.

"Victor, please." Ken's voice had dropped to a whisper, again, "You'll wake up the priest – the rectory is right behind the sanctuary." I let the phone drop to my side and went straight for the sanctuary. If he was going to taunt me, I wasn't about to let him order me. I found the door behind the altar and tore it off it's hinges. Almost immediately, I fell backwards, the door dropping out of my hands as I covered my face – either someone inside the room, or beforehand, had set up several spotlights to point straight at my face. I had to lay on my side for several minutes, possibly even a full half-hour, before I could withstand the pain and drag myself out of the light's pathway.

"Oh, oops... I guess I forgot that he was out. Some people do have things to do – feed poor, clothe homeless... it might seem a bit alien to you, don't strain yourself." Ken's voice beat from the phone, which I had dropped several feet away, but also from all around me. I had to pull myself up by the base of Joshu's statue. I was still dizzy and sick, and Ken's taunting put me in a foul mood. In frustration, I braced a hand on the back of the wooden statue's robe and shoved the whole fixture clean off, onto the floor.

"Goddammit, where are you!" I howled, not perturbed by the crash as Joshu's statue shattered and pieces of wood went skidding down the steps to the sanctuary and between the rows of pews. In response, I heard Ken chuckle. It was an almost eerie sound, absolutely nothing like the foolish clod I'd seen spilling sand over the kitchen floor or tripping over brooms during the last few weeks.

"Victor, what are the poor church goers going to think when they come in on Sunday, to find that some heathen has vandalized their sanctuary? Or what about the priest? He's supposed to be responsible for the grounds. I don't think he'll be too pleased. Or what about – ?" I didn't let Ken finish.

"FUCK YOU!"

There was utter silence in the church, and from the cell phone, still abandoned on the floor. I didn't know how he'd stopped me from catching any of his scent, but it infuriated me. When I found him, I was going to rip his throat open – I didn't care what kind of threats or weapons he had.

"I honestly can't believe you still can't figure out where I'm hiding. I told you to follow the clues – this is what you get for depending on that sense of smell of yours." I ground my teeth and cursed myself – I should have expected that he'd know I was doing that, if he'd been able to evade me by disguising his scent as a bum.

"Fine. I'll play by your rules, boy. And when I find you, I'll..." I growled. I wondered if it was even worthwhile, finishing the threat. Ken seemed to understand, because he replied, almost amiably,

"Oh, I'm sure you will."

I scooped up pieces from the shattered statue and flung them into the lights pouring from the rectory. The bulbs shattered and the lights went out, leaving me in the darkness of a before dawn church. Leaving the cellphone on the floor, I pushed through, into the rectory. I couldn't think of any reason Ken would hide in here, but I also didn't see why he would have mentioned it, if it weren't a clue.

It was plain, like the cell of any monk I'd ever seen in all my time hiding in monasteries across the world. There was a bookshelf, filled with volumes about folklore, philosophy, ethics, and theology. The only thing out of place was a single book on the priest's bed, held open by a ball of string.

It was certainly odd, enough. I examined the book – nothing special, just a second hand copy of Victor Hugo's _Hunchback of Notre Dame._ It felt wrong. Like an almost deliberate jab.

"From the deepest desires often comes the deadliest hate." Ken's voice rang out, both from the cellphone speaker and through the church walls. The words made me jerk upright, before he continued, "That was a quote from Socrates, by the way. I thought you might be more familiar with his ideas than myself – Roman culture did have a great deal of their roots in the Greeks. Though, admittedly, Aristotle seems to be a bigger influence than Socrates, but I digress."

I dropped the book and the ball of string onto the floor. What was he talking about Rome for? What did he know of it? And who the hell did he think he was, mentioning my homeland?

"What are you on about, boy?" I demanded, storming back out into the sanctuary and waiting for Ken's resounding response. He just laughed at me.

"For a soldier in the Roman army, you sure have little respect for anything, other than yourself. That's probably why you never made it past Lieutenant. And it would sure account for why Pilate wanted to hunt you down – you should have just taken it. In my opinion, stomaching a demotion or the like and manning up to what you'd done would have shown moral character, which might have made you at least seem redeemable."

Now, I was burning with curiosity. Where and how Ken had found this information was beyond me – it was something else to have it shoved in my face like he was doing.

"What would your FATHER have thought? Or your mother? It probably never occurred to you that your actions would always reflect badly on your family, bring them shame and dishonor..." That was the final push, for me. I stormed down the steps of the sanctuary, pulling up the pews with my bare hands and throwing them down the aisles.

"You know NOTHING of it! Don't you DARE speak of my father like that! You have no IDEA – he was an honorable Roman, a true _paterfamilias_! He ruled his house like the Emperor ruled all of Rome! Don't speak to me of shame – he would have held his pride, even in the face of an invader!"

Ken snorted. I heard such disgust in his voice that it drove my fury still higher.

"I'm sure. The man was willing to kill his youngest son – your own brother – to do it. It certainly explains how a nasty piece of work like you came into existence."

Angered and frustrated, I kicked another pew out of the way, pausing as I saw something on the floor, glinting in the moonlight. When I bent to pick it up, it proved to be a stick and ball-bearing made of metal, several inches long. There was a little loop on the end, as though to run a thread through.

"Anyway, before you got me sidetracked about Rome and your family, I WAS going somewhere with the quote from Socrates. Not sure if you notice this, but there seems to be a recurring philosophy about love and hatred, despite being polar opposites, being so very, very close in origin. Sir Walter Raleigh is quoted as saying 'Hatreds are the cinders of affection', and a James Baldwin concluded that people try to hate so much because if they didn't, they'd be left with emptiness and pain."

I was doing my damnedest not to listen to him, looking for some other kind of clue – if he was going to make me play this game, I wasn't about to let him get the satisfaction of forcing me to surrender.

"Funny thing is, there are a few sayings like that back home – an old Alderannian proverb says 'Love and hatred are siblings: Both with the same parents, but one ran away and the other stayed behind.'" He paused, finally continuing as I tore apart a confessional booth, "You certainly proved them all right."

"SHUT UP!" I bellowed, throwing one of the doors back towards the cellphone, as though it would silence Ken's voice from echoing all around the church.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" He asked, sarcastically. I turned back to my search, finally finding the next piece on the floor. It was a small cup, about the size of a fist, with a hole in the bottom, just big enough for the stick to fit into. Looped with the string and attached, the puzzle made a hand-held bell. As I finished assembling it, the tiny chime echoed in the briefly silent church, and recalled the book to my mind.

A story about a monster kept locked up in a church's bell tower...

I retrieved the cellphone from where I'd left it, then sped into the bell tower of the church. The supporting rafters for the bell was filled with the smell of old wood and dust that hadn't been disturbed since a machine had been installed to ring the bell. Any one else wouldn't have been able to stand, but my senses were accustomed to the sight and smells of decay.

I scanned the room with eyes that could pierce a moonless darkness. Every splinter in the wood stuck out to my eyes, and made any disorder obvious. There were footprints in the dust – those of the small, mismatched shoes that Ken wore, so I recognized his presence – but no smell lingered, even in trace amounts. He must have used someone else's clothes to cloak his scent, again. It still left the disturbing fact that I couldn't see him up here.

"It took you long enough to figure it out. That's been... wow, seven and a half hours, I've had you running. How much of that time did you actually spend looking for me?" The sound was incredibly close, but still echoed. It was coming from inside the bell, itself.

When I looked up, into the bell's structure, I saw exactly what it was – taped to the very top of the bell, on the inner rim, were two electronics. One was the matching cellphone to the one I'd been following. The second was a voice recorder. Both were lit up, signifying their active state.

"I'm assuming you're already here, Victor – if not, then I overestimated you; if you were here long ago, then I underestimated you. Oh, well. Guess I'm about to learn a lesson, either way." Ken's voice came from the voice recorder, clear and sharp as though he were standing right next to me.

My first reaction was shock. All that time, and I hadn't even been tracking him, properly? He'd deliberately left a scent trail to lead me to this church, and I'd torn it apart, looking for him...

And this is what it was, the whole time? Had it really always been a recording? It just didn't seem possible – I'd spoken to him and answered his questions, and he'd answered mine. But, if he'd switched out with a recording device, when had that happened, and without my noticing it?

The next thing to come in was a new, blinding rage. I'd been tricked. Tricked by a boy, not even old enough to grow a beard, and he'd played me like a fool. I reached up and yanked the recorder off the bell, throwing it against the side and watching it shatter. Instead of appeasing me, it enraged me further. The next thing I threw was the cellphone Ken had been taunting me with, and the noise it made as it shattered against the bell was gloriously loud, like the church bell itself was succumbing to my superior rage.

I heard a tiny beeping over my head. The second phone – the one that had been taped next to the recorder – was flashing a green light, and a little icon reading 'Incoming call' was blinking on the screen.

I answered without hesitating, this time.

"When I find you, boy, I will tear your spine from your back." I snarled into the receiver. Ken's response was immediate and unaffected.

"Me? What did I do?" He sounded sincerely surprised, too.

"Don't fuck with me, boy!" I bellowed. My anger was something incredible – I hadn't felt so furious in a long time, so ready to kill, so eager to find my prey and cause them any amount of suffering.

"This from the man who's been trying to get into my pants since our first meeting. Make up your mind, already." He retorted, every bit as scornful as I ever was with him.

I slammed my fist against the inside of the bell and heard the massive gong of the metal and the crunch of a crack appearing where I'd it it. I forced myself to stop shouting. Anger wouldn't get me any answers to my questions.

"How did you rig the recorder?" I demanded, stepping out from under the bell – the noise was making my teeth vibrate. Ken made another disgusted noise on his end.

"Victor, you have a mind that is entirely too predictable." He grumbled. I stopped in my tracks.

It didn't seem possible – I refused to believe that he'd actually predicted my answers, or, for that matter, that he could have known as much as he had. He couldn't have.

"Oh, yes, I could have." Ken snapped at me through the phone, making me jump, "God, Victor, you're almost word-for-word a stereotype of horrible villains: 'This is impossible, nobody can stop me, how could you foil my plans, NOOOO'. I find more original stuff in celebrity gossip sheets, and those are at least fifty-percent copy and pasted."

This time, I kept my head. I could deal with being baited – and I knew very well that baiting was exactly what Ken was doing to me.

"And, right about now, you're thinking about how much you'd love to wring my neck, is that right?"

It was, but I wasn't about to admit it.

"If you can predict me so well, you should know what else I'm thinking about, right now." I growled, keeping my mounting impatience in check. If he was so eager to show off how easily he could predict my thoughts, I was more than willing to gamble that he wouldn't be able to resist telling me...

"An interesting fact of literature: Sherlock Holmes never actually did say 'Elementary, my dear Watson'. Rather, while in discussion with Watson, Holmes explains how he knows that Watson is making long rounds as a doctor. Astounded, the doctor says 'Excellent', to which Holmes humbly replies, 'Elementary'." Ken put in, almost abruptly. I had to pause and think this over for a moment before it did occur to me what Ken might be preparing himself to say.

"You deduced all this information about me?" I didn't bother to keep my skepticism masked, "Explain, boy."

I could almost hear the smirk in Ken's voice as he spoke, explaining.

"Your face." He said, simply, and when I demanded to know what he meant, Ken went on, "Your facial features match, quite perfectly, what this planet's anthropology would place on a citizen of Ancient Rome, sometime in the realm of when Caesar Augustus would have had control. And, because you are so purely Roman in your features, you can't be from this day and age – your ancestors kept with other Romans, instead of the blood mixing between Roman and German and English and other races."

I opened my mouth to snarl at him. No sound came out – perhaps that really was more astounding than I'd first given him credit for.

"Then, your mannerisms, posture, and how you walk – it's sort of a semi-march, when you're not thinking about it. Habit. That points to a military man. You're also particularly ruthless and you have survival and killing instincts that would serve well to make snap decisions on the battlefield, so you were probably an officer. However, you have a temper and, while you're not an idiot by any means, you lack the ability to strategize. This makes it unlikely that you would have gotten terribly high in the ranks – Lieutenant would be most likely, though I suspected you MIGHT have been a Captain, if during your time, you'd kept your temper in greater check. I rather doubted that bit, though."

My fists clenched without my even willing them to do so. It made the growl in my throat feel like it was expanding to a roar against my command.

"Then, your attitude towards the more base people – every time you look at someone in this city, likely born into a lower social and economic class, I always see this disdain in your gaze. Maybe you don't even realize it, but you do. Also, how you treat your various partners that you bring home – quit using MY bed, by the way, I've been meaning to say that to you – you certainly think of them as lower beings, created specifically to serve you. That sort of behavior starts during early childhood – you probably had servants, which would in turn mean your parents had servants, which would mean you grew up in a household of high stature. Inside Rome, itself.

"Yet, in spite of your high social standing, you have a serious tan. Simply being a soldier wouldn't account for that, so you most likely had to have been stationed in a part of the Empire with greater amounts of sun, more poverty levels, so the buildings would not be as rich and, as such, sun exposure would be higher, and overall, further away from the capital. Closer to the equator, large enough to warrant an outpost of soldiers, but not enough that they'd send a general or even a colonel..."

My hand tightened around the cellphone. My legs carried me down the steps of the bell tower.

"Judea. Under the governance of Pontius Pilate, at the time. A temper like yours, and the unwillingness of the Hebrew people to be tamed, combined with Pilate's reputation to not want riots and uprisings, you probably got your fair share of trouble. And, because, at long last, you crossed a line, Pilate would have sent soldiers after you, at which you fled and, to escape the penalty, became a vampire – how, I still don't know, because there's a lack of sufficient data for me to make an educated guess – and here we are, today."

I sat down on the bottom step. I wouldn't admit it, but Ken had actually impressed me. Just a little bit of information – and I hadn't even given him any of it – and he had deduced all of this about me. More than any person I'd ever met could have known, without me actually telling them. After a long moment, I thought over this information, then came up with a new question.

"How did you know about my brother?" I had nothing among my personal possessions that held any link to my family. My father, my mother, or my brother Justin, were all very carefully concealed secrets, ones that I hadn't necessarily told to all of those I'd grown close to in the past. I liked to think I was discreet about how profound an affect Justin's death had had on myself.

"That was a bit more guesswork. I found the ring, for one." It was the one possession I'd kept from my family. My father had presented it to me when I'd become a man. Tiberius, himself, had awarded Justin three medals for valor. The ring had been his, twisted off Justin's finger as he'd lain, dying. To hear Ken speak so smugly, for daring to touch it, I felt something close to indigence, "It's too small to fit on YOUR finger properly – and either way, the structure of it is all wrong. Clearly, it was made for someone else. Also, it's not in the best condition – there was a warp in the metal, as though it had been bent out of shape, then bent back, properly. You aren't one for much in the adornments, which makes it unlikely that you would wear anything to the point it would become damaged, so that means you aren't responsible for the scratches and dings in it. So, a former owner, with smaller fingers, but the ring was still something you could have. Points to a younger sibling, likely a brother.

"However, if that younger brother had given the ring to you as a gift, you probably wouldn't have kept it – it's embarrassing for someone as proud as you to receive gifts from anyone younger – so, you attach a significance to it. Someone other than the ring's owner gave it to you, in which case, the original owner would have to be dead. And, the giver would have to be someone you looked up to and respected. Likely your father. And why would your father have taken the ring from your brother, as he was dying, unless your brother was killed, specifically by your father?"

I didn't say a word. Inside, I felt nauseated. I was not accustomed to having other people know about my past unless I'd told them. More than the knowledge, the lack of control disturbed me. But if he was deducing all of this, perhaps I could somehow twist his perceptions to control the conclusions he reached.

I stood from the step and slowly started out of the church, leaving the wreckage behind me. Outside I could smell his blood, again. This time, I paused to focus, concentrating on where Ken could be. If I could find him, then this game would be over.

"How did you find out about St. Thomas? Or any of the other monasteries, for that matter?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Oh, I sliced into the computers of the police databases." This time, Ken didn't sound smug in the least, in fact, he sounded incredibly nonchalant. I almost dropped the cellphone.

"Crime data and stats from the beginning of organized crime investigation are entered into there. Always around monasteries of some sort, there are slews of murders, and all of them had the same distinct characteristics and oddities – bodies found in ditches, under trees, all drained of blood, homes broken into without any use of weapons or anything of the like... It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's a vampire, and it would have to be one very good at concealing his presence. A vampire that's been alive since the Roman Empire sure seems to fit the bill."

I couldn't focus. Ken's voice, combined with all the little gears whirring in the cellphone, was giving me a headache, skewing my concentration.

"When you brought up all those quotes about love and hatred, were you going to make a point with that?" I added. When Ken replied, he sounded sincere, but I was quickly learning that he could be incredibly deceptive, when he felt like it.

"Didn't I? Oh. Huh, I must have lost track and forgotten to add it in..." I steeled myself for what his answer would, finally, be, "Well, the point was supposed to be about the person whom you had fallen in love with."

That much, I had expected. And, unlike the other answers, I was fairly confident that Ken couldn't know exactly who it was.

"They must have been a man – a woman, both because of your personality and the law at the time, I don't see would have been allowed to get away from you – someone who actually inspired a certain amount of virtue in you. However, he rejected you, and it sparked you to unleash your anger on civilians. Thus, Pilate came to hunt you down... and you know the rest."

I smirked. If Ken had even a modicum of sense – and he certainly did – he would have understood about Joshu. And he gave no indication of it. For all his self-assurance, he didn't know anything about Joshu's rejection, nor the impact it had on me.

"You know NOTHING, boy." I hissed. Ken said nothing for several minutes, before I finally heard him sigh.

"Well, the way you say it, it's not supposed to be a gesture to save you some face – you really do believe that I have no idea what I'm talking about." Ken paused, then I heard him make a non-committal noise, "Oh well, I guess we'll find out, sooner or later. After all, I could memorize every fact in every book in every library on this planet, but I can't memorize empathy for what they mean to the people on this planet."

What he meant by that, I couldn't guess.

"Now, that couldn't be all the questions you had for me? Surely, I threw enough oddities at you to give you more than a few questions about how I deduced all the information I have about your history."

"The boy. How could you be so sure of who I would see, and when?" I continued, starting towards the city. I knew Ken wouldn't be at the house, so the only places open at this time in the morning would be the only places he'd have. My ability to focus on prey and track them just wouldn't come to me, maybe because Ken was doing such a good job distracting me, or because I was so exhausted.

"Victor, that should be obvious. You cannot seriously mean to tell me that you can't figure THAT one out." I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. The exasperation in his voice was well worth it.

"I can. I just want to hear you admit it." I replied, passing by an dark retail outlet and making my way through the streets. Gas stations and twenty-four hour drugstores wouldn't have the proper facilities for Ken to be set up, nor stationary, with a phone. Likely, a twenty-four hour diner or coffee house would be his location.

"Oh, alright," Ken sighed, "Yes, I set that up. Met him at a bookstore when I was researching your Roman roots, and told him that I'd be able to help with the shelter's financial troubles if he would just do me a little favor – just step out of the hall and look attractive when he saw this certain man exit the club across from his, then go his way. He wasn't about to turn his nose up at that."

I let my upper lip curl, stalking my way past a bar that had closed at three. The smell of vomit and cheap alcohol made my head spin and overwhelmed my sense of smell for several blocks.

"What if I had just dropped the phone and gone after him? What then, boy?"

Ken made another shrugging noise, again.

"I told him to take a weapon with him – oh, and to aim for the heart, if you did follow him. Come on, Victor, he was in a POOL hall. That's about the closest thing to a stake you can get on short notice."

"What if I told you he hadn't really come armed. That was a risk on your part, boy." For a third time, I heard Ken make that disinterested noise.

"That's his prerogative – he was a pawn. Same as the priest in the church, except his role was to get out for the night and give me the time to set things up in the building." The way he sounded so unconcerned surprised me – for a boy who'd claimed to want justice, who'd shown disgust at my own disregard for human life, who'd criticized me for my lack of morals, he certainly didn't seem to care much for his own kind.

I thought I might actually find him worthy of some real respect. It appealed, greatly, to me. If he decided to play games with me, it would be a minor inconvenience. I actually rather appreciated to see someone worthy of challenging me.

"Oh, speaking of the set-up, Victor – you called all of my preparations cheap tricks. They weren't cheap. You oughta know: You bought them."

I paused between a bakery and an apartment building.

"And I don't just mean as in you fell for the tricks – I mean, it was a nice and juicy sum. Three phones, two dozen cameras, a voice recorder, the computer..."

"WHAT cameras? What does that have to do with tonight, boy?"

Ken laughed. It was louder and almost more of a cackle than the others he'd directed at me through the tape. This one, it seemed more maniacal, more alive, more like he was deliberately laughing at me.

"Victor, I've been watching you since you left the house. There was one on the door, one at the bar, a few in the church, and the rest scattered through the city to keep track of your movements between them. And, of course, all of them have a feed to the computer I've got with me, now. That was how I was able to time the times the phone rang. If you hadn't destroyed the recorder, you could have rewound the tape and at the very beginning, I'd recorded a message to program the voice command on the phone you have now. That's how it dialed to the phone that was at the bar." I stopped, dead, in my tracks, "Victor? Did I say something wrong? You just... stopped, there, for a moment."

"How can you SEE me?" I demanded. As much as I found it intriguing that Ken had everything set up so perfectly, I was incredibly uneasy to be recorded. Vampires weren't supposed to appear on film.

"Sonar, my friend. The little beeping that you can hear from your phone... just be quiet a moment, you'll hear it." I said nothing, not even daring to breathe as the line went silent. Indeed, I could detect a beeping from the phone that normal humans never would have noticed, "That's the sonar at work. Gives me an accurate picture of where you are and what you're doing."

That was almost the limit for my patience. I raised my arm to hurl the phone to the ground, but I heard Ken's voice calling – not even desperate, but still as unconcerned as ever.

"Oh, but there's more, Victor. Do you know what time it is?" It gave me pause, enough that I looked to the sky and was alarmed to see the horizon growing steadily lighter. Dawn was coming, quicker than I'd thought, and I hadn't even fed, that night. My anger and frustration quickly vanished into sheer panic.

"That's right – I've kept you running for a whole night. It's bedtime for all the good little vampire boys and girls. If you don't want the evil sun to come and gobble you up, that is." He sounded gleeful, like some kind of demon had taken place of the otherwise impressive young man.

I remained rooted to my spot, unable to really move. I hadn't even noticed how much time I'd been wasting this whole night. It shocked me to the core.

"I'll tell you where I am. I'm in the Garden District. Another church. You're still in Iberville. Closer to the house than anywhere near where I am, but I suspect you could probably make it if you flew. Of course, you wouldn't be able to get back, in time. So, that's my last challenge for the night: What do you want to do, now?"

Now, the taunt was blatant. No more hinting, no more suggestiveness, just a straight out challenge. Would I chase him down and risk being caught in the sun, or would I return to the assured safety of my casket? The sky was growing lighter by the minute. I couldn't think straight, nor did I think I'd have the strength to get far. I was weak enough with hunger, before the sun would come up.

"It's a fairly easy question, I think. Would you take a chance, hoping for an ultimately suicidal victory? Or will you make the guaranty of a strategical surrender, just for tonight?" Ken was still goading me. I could hear the cackle, still in his voice.

I didn't reply. My body moved sluggishly, but I found enough of my strength to return home and stumble down, into the cellar. My arms barely obeyed me as I locked the door, and my legs shuddered under my own weight as I ended up sliding to the bottom of the steps. It took the last of my reserves to heave myself into my casket, and even that was too much of an exertion. I found myself staring, useless, at the ceiling, unable to even find strength to pull the lid back over myself.

Without any warning at all, Ken's pale face came into view, blurred like the ceiling of the cellar. I was powerless, unable to do anything but stare at him. How had he gotten here, in the first place? He'd said he was in the Garden District...

"I lied, of course." He answered, again predicting my thoughts. One arm reached across my body and I could hear the creaking and scraping of the metal and wood of the casket lid sliding off the ground. Ken was sealing my tomb, for me. But he stopped just short, able to look me in the face.

"Well? Did I pass?" He rested his fair face on folded hands, clasped over the ridge of the casket lid. His eyes gleamed like molten silver, but if it was with curiosity or malice, I couldn't tell.

Pass what? I couldn't even find the strength to speak, but Ken simply smiled. Again, he could tell exactly what I was thinking.

"Your test. What I enough to keep you interested? Would you say that it was enough to keep you entertained, at least for the night?" Again, I couldn't answer, but Ken seemed to know the answers well enough, because he reached down and grabbed the top of my head, forcing me to nod, "Good. Then, would you be willing to... please... stick to our agreement. I'm here for you to feed off of – don't go getting other people involved. I mean, for kriff's sake, a pregnant teenage runaway? Even to a guy like me, that's cold."

I closed my eyes, just for a moment, then opened them again to give Ken the best glare I could. He was still smiling.

"I'll be here, without fail, for all your dietary needs. Don't feel like you need to make it difficult. Maybe we can do this tomorrow night – you go hide, leave me clues, and I'll come and find you. That sort of thing." I gave him no response – again, because I couldn't – but Ken didn't seem really interested in waiting. He shrugged and pulled out that pocketknife of his, again. A quick slit on his wrist, and he lowered it to my lips. The blood that dribbled from his wrist and into my mouth was warm and rich, like a piece of meat that had been marinated in a rich wine. It didn't give me any power to move, but I didn't need to – Ken pulled his wrist away and I was left with a content feeling that readied me for rest.

"Well, sleep on it. We can talk tomorrow night." Ken murmured, pushing the lid fully over my head and locking it into place, "I can promise you, Victor: Life by my rules will NOT be boring."

A/N: Finally done! And... I never thought I'd say this... but... reviews? Please? And, yes, I will update the other fics. I swear. Now that the holiday season is over, I should have more time to write. I will do it.


	5. Chapter 5

In My Blood

By Sapadu

Chapter 13

Ken

Well... I never really expected anything, but there was a strange kind of routine Victor and I settled into. He would feed on me every night, then I'd figure something out to keep the both of us occupied. Sometimes, it was another challenge of wits. Occasionally Victor would attempt to pounce and try to wrestle me into submission, but more often than not, it was just a game of chess.

Don't know why I bothered with that – Victor was horrible at chess.

In the meantime, I occupied myself with studying the culture of the planet. Food, music, entertainment, politics, history – I would buy books, music systems, and something called a television. I figured, well, if I was going to be living here for the rest of whatever, I might as well immerse myself in the culture.

To be honest, that's what ended up happening more than a few nights when Victor came up from the cellar – it would either be a new music genre I was investigating, or watching this planet's version of holodramas, called 'movies' (Get it? As in 'Moving pictures' – movies! Ah-hyuk, ah-hyuk, ah-hyuk... gag me!) or some version of fiction I was reading and criticizing to my own amusement.

"Victor, what happens when YOU go out into the sunlight?" I asked, on one such occasion. Victor didn't deign to answer, but I knew anyway, "You'd burn up and turn into dust. Can THESE vampires survive because... I dunno, they get more Vitamin D, what with being 'Vegetarian' and all?"

"Boy." That was what Victor had taken to calling me, and, for some reason, I let him – I dunno, maybe it was because, since he was two-THOUSAND years old, I figured if anyone had the right to call me kid or anything, it was him, "What makes you think it's a good idea to talk about this in public?"

I looked up from the book I'd been dissecting – this sucker was huge, by the way. It had to be thicker than a few encyclopedias I'd found – and raised my eyebrows at Victor. We'd been standing on a corner somewhere on Canal street and just overall amusing ourselves by being snarky about people we saw walking past. This bored me early on, so I'd pulled out this book and made comments about it's terrible plot, half-hearted characters, and, of course, the fact that it was about vampires. And I WAS standing right next to a REAL ghoul, so...

"They're not listening." I waved my book at the various characters wandering past us. Victor ignored me – to be precise, I saw him eyeing another guy in black jeans that had to be cutting off circulation in his feet.

I threw the book at Victor's head and I heard the spine break against his skull.

"You're an ass." I snarled as I stormed off.

Right. So, the reason I bring that up is because, really it got me thinking. I'd learned enough about Victor's vampiric nature that I knew which legends were real and which were false, and how to still keep tabs on Victor even if I couldn't record him on cameras or microphones.

_But that's not enough. _Even I knew that, I wasn't about to dispute it – I wanted to understand it. I wanted to know exactly why a vampire didn't have a reflection (No soul, my wookie – any medical professional could tell you that our idea of the soul was just the neurons in our brains firing and once we died, that was pretty much it. By that logic, nobody should have a reflection.) Or needed to drink blood, or couldn't go out in the sunlight, or healed immediately, or any of it.

It didn't make sense. And I WANTED it to make sense.

I needed information. I needed data.

After leaving Victor to do whatever he pleased with the people on the street, I found my way to a used bookstore. The clerk knew me by face and even told me about the new donations they'd gotten in during the past week in the medical journals. I thanked her and immediately went for them. I was convinced that if I could find something in the journals about human physiology, I might figure out something about Victor.

_How do you know that vampires bodies are based on humans? _That idea bothered me – that I might just be chasing a ghost in hopes for information that simply didn't exist. I'd toyed with the idea of actually experimenting on Victor while he slept, except the one time I'd tried doing more than just drawing on his face, Victor had shot straight out of his coffin and grabbed me by the throat.

That hadn't been too smart. I hadn't repeated the stunt since – though I had on more than one occasion written something on Victor's face.

_What does it matter to you? If you really wanted to know..._ I just really wished I could stop hearing this voice in the back of my head that seemed determined to push me into using the Force.

And, as a result...

"Gray's Anatomy." I almost dropped the textbook at the sound of a voice behind me, "Heavy reading for one so young."

I spun so quickly I might have lifted off the floor. Behind me, facing the same bookshelves, was a woman with skin so richly dark, she could have been carved from ebony. She towered over me, her hair hanging down past her shoulders in dreadlocks and spilling over the richly embroidered orange cloth of her dress. It was an almost eerie beauty, like the stillness of sculptures or the way the eyes of the Mona Lisa always seemed to follow the viewer.

But more than that, I was immediately set on guard by the fact that I hadn't even heard her approach me. It was as though she'd materialized out of thin air.

Wait, no, calm down. I finally managed to stop twitching and offered a grin. The lady returned the smile, her hooded eyes piercing right into mine.

"Did you need this book? I've already got a copy, so..." I offered it to her, but the lady gracefully shook her head. Looking at her, she obviously couldn't be living in New Orleans – her features were head and shoulders above any kind of people I'd meet wandering around the side streets or in the shops. And, of course, the way she dressed was too deliberate. I'd seen other women of color and their fashions – either something along the lines of brand name jeans with mismatched shirts or something deliberately gaudy. As loud and extravagant these clothes were, I could tell from her posture and exactly how she wore them that it was a different class altogether – like traditional clothes from an ethnic culture.

_You know, there was someone else who made you think this thoroughly about who they were... _For once, I was happy to hear that voice. And it clearly alerted me to why I was so edgy about this woman, without even really exchanging any words: She made my gut jump, just like Victor had.

Almost immediately – instinctively, I'd say – I threw up my shields. It was the one thing I'd had to do, consistently, with Victor around. My mind was shielded from any kind of influence or prodding. And if I was right in what I was thinking...

She was still staring at me.

"...Um... D-do I know you, Miss?" I asked, fumbling to put the book back on it's shelf and cringing as best I could. If I was right, then pretending to be spooked and awed by her would be the best course, at least until I learned something more.

And, of course, it didn't hurt that my fear wasn't entirely insincere.

She continued to smile at me.

"Not yet, no." She extended a hand. I saw a ring with scalloped edges and a disc of pure ivory with a woman's face carved into it. When I shook her hand, the ring felt warmer than her skin, "My name's Dr. Beauchamp."

A French name for a lady without even a hint of a French accent – if anything, she sounded Carribean – those outstanding clothes, her posture, and her features... all of that sent my 'Something is off'-o-meter into panic mode.

"As in the character from _Le'Comte de Monte Cristo_? Dumas?" Was what I managed. She raised her eyebrows at me, then narrowed her eyes, as though in appraisal of a rare piece of work.

"And he's well-read, too."

"... Then... I take it there's a reason you wanted to talk to me?" I finally pushed, when I could trust myself not to puke with nervousness. The 'Doctor' smiled – I saw two rows of perfectly straight, bright white teeth, and the contrast so strong that it made her face seem closer to inky black than ever before.

"You could say I'm a friend of a friend." She began, smoothly, "You caught my eye earlier, and I wanted to say hello."

"Oh." Breathe, Ken. Don't choke, don't panic, don't fall over even though she's easily a head taller than you, "I don't recall seeing you... sorry?"

Beauchamp laid one of her hands on my elbow, almost comforting if it weren't so unbelievably cold.

"Don't think on that for now, dear boy." Great, not another one, "I just wanted to know who Victor's new friend was."

That did it – she knew Victor and wanted to know who I was, through him. She was a vampire. No other explanation for it. I had to remind myself that, if I wanted to live, I would have to remain calm.

"I'm not really his friend – I guess you could say I'm just sort of a stray he picked up." I managed, still trying to play nervous and doing a passable job, mostly because I really was. Beauchamp didn't comment, except to smile as I said the word 'stray'. If it meant something to her, either it was something about vampires that I had to learn about, or it was just common knowledge of Victor's reputation. Either one seemed plausible to me.

And then, it occurred to me – if I wanted more data, I could get it out of her, somehow.

Or... at the very least, I could use her to get it out of Victor.

"Oh, I guess you were asking for a name, huh?" I finally managed, sheepishly shifting my books to my other arm and offering my hand, again, "My name's Ken. Ken Gray."

Beauchamp smiled at me, again in that beautifully condescending manner.

"As in The Picture of Dorian Gray? Wilde?"

Oh... This was gonna be interesting, at least.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I spent the day sleeping off the possibly unsafe drop in blood sugar I'd suffered when I got back to the house. More often than not, I found myself on the couch – sometimes with the radio blaring or sometimes with a book on my stomach, but always because I knew Victor had been doing something in the bed that was supposed to be for me. Screw him, anyway.

I was, therefore, prone to some truly bizarre dreams. I was used to having strange ones – a combination of the fact that I led a strange life and that I was convinced unusual sleep patterns and REM stages had to be genetic. These, however, really did leave me speechless.

For one, I kept seeing creatures from this planet – up until now, I'd mostly had visions of sights that I would have found familiar. The particular creature that came up to me was a large, black dog, with hair so thick and stringy that I couldn't see it's eyes. But they were there, because I could see specks of red glowing from under the hair, and when it opened it's mouth, I could see fangs as long as it's whole head sticking out, and a bright red, forked tongue.

Then I heard a bell tolling and I found myself among a field of stakes, driven into the ground as though they'd grown up like trees. Some had bars nailed perpendicularly on the stakes, some had pieces of shredded cloth tied around them. I wandered between them and heard the bell tolling, but still couldn't figure out where it was from or where I was going.

At that moment, in reality, the seven o'clock radio program started playing it's more obnoxious music. It woke me up, easily enough, but it was to a crick in my neck and the sun right in my eye.

It was interesting – for the few weeks since I'd started living with Victor, I don't think I remember seeing the sunrise even once. Slowly, but surely, I'd grown more and more nocturnal, simply because that was all I could do. Victor needed me to be awake during the nights, and I needed to do it to keep my end of the bargain. Of course, this interfered with my work schedule more than a little, and I ended up getting little sleep because of it.

The most unnerving moment of my life was when I stopped to think about it, I'd completely adjusted my schedule and way of living to suit Victor.

That... irked me.

_Live by your own terms, boy. If you don't make your own rules, you might as well be letting someone else own you. No good ever comes from molding yourself to make life convenient for other people – you never know who deserves your courtesy._ Was what Miss Kendalina would have said. She'd always hated it when I tried to make myself more appropriate for other's tastes, or when Mister Triclops had relented too easily to demands.

Why was I thinking of her now, anyway? I'd been too happy to ignore her when I'd had no choice but to live under the same roof. Now, she wouldn't go away.

Was that what the dream had been about? Warning me against restricting myself? Or a premonition that I was being haunted? I didn't know – Mister Triclops was the expert on dream symbolism, not me.

For the first time since coming to Earth, I wished for my parents.

I got off the couch, restless for something to do. I wouldn't have to go to work until the afternoon, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. Really, I think, more than anything, I wanted to get back at Victor for... well, just for being the insufferable prick he was, really. And for driving me to this state where I was trying to impress him, stupid as it sounded.

And that's when the thought occurred to me – if I could convince him that he was in danger, and that I was his only shot, then I could find out more about vampires, as well as get back at him.

I quickly pulled on a pair of tennis shoes and headed out the door, needing a walk to clear my mind.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Hey, G-man." I thudded my forehead against the shelves. Since moving in with Victor, Marcus hadn't dragged me out to anymore bars or clubs. I should have known it was too good to last. With great care to not puncture the box, I set down my paper cutters and straightened.

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it." I called, just in case.

"Dude, there's a guy here, wanna see you."

The moment I heard that, all I could think was 'Dammit, Victor.'

Indeed, standing by the doorway, right along with a supervisor, was the man himself. In fact, Victor seemed to be in no rush for me to come over – I could see him eyeing my supervisor's throat. Of course, though, the moment I reached the doorway, Victor's relaxed attitude dropped completely and he rounded on me.

"What, you couldn't even show up where you told me to meet you?" I stopped short, "You wrote you'd take lunch at three and you wanted me to show up and talk to you then, and you couldn't even bother to remember?"

My supervisor was indeed holding a note that, from what little I could see, did look impeccably like my handwriting. And, from the look he was giving me, it was fairly plain that I was in for it, especially given that all of us took our lunch breaks at five and there was no way I would have gotten a break at three. We all knew that, I knew it, and Victor had to know it.

I tried to smile, nervous as I was and holding back a great deal of swearing that I would have liked to set Victor's ears on fire with.

"Gray..." My supervisor began, but Victor interrupted him, again. Oh, how I wished to punch him in the jaw.

"Well, never mind – if you don't want me here, I'll leave." He did just that, turning and stalking away, which left me with my irate supervisor.

"Gray, we've told you not to use work as a meeting place, before." Already, I knew that this wasn't the only reason he was cranky with me – I had to wonder what else Victor had said to him before I'd gotten here.

"Look... uh... I didn't... Really, I didn't ask him to meet me here – maybe..." That was lame, especially since I could see my supervisor looking at the note.

"We've seen him around here, before, too – Marcus said he was some guy you met at a bar..." He gave me another suspicious glare at that, one that I wasn't sure what it meant, "And one of the scheduling managers remembers trying to call the police when he bumped into this guy. This isn't someone we want hanging around, even if he does know someone or not."

"I..." My supervisor shook his head. Already, I knew what that meant, "...Right... I'll get my coat."

I had to wonder exactly what Victor had said to him – if it had been something to make me look bad, if it had just been an insult of some sort, or if he'd just told him that I'd lied on my application for employment. Either way, the bottom line was it was Victor who'd gotten me fired. Or, at any rate, he was who I was going to blame for it.

Marcus spotted me and nodded as I passed by. I only had a chance to wave before getting out onto the streets. Victor was already ahead of me on the street, and I had to put on a sprint to catch up with him and swing my backpack at his head.

Yeah. Real mature, I know.

Victor stumbled for a moment, then straightened and turned back to me. I swear, he was deliberately walking slowly now, just to taunt me.

"What was THAT for?" I demanded. Victor didn't even seemed fazed that I'd just hit him with a bag easily the weight of a bowling ball. Maybe he was just staying calm for the express purpose of pissing me off.

It was working.

"I just got FIRED, you kriffer! You had to know that – why would you bother coming here just for THAT?"

Victor shrugged, not even looking at me.

"I was bored. And you were the one who promised to keep me interested through the nights." He answered, sounding so supremely bored that he could have won an Oscar for it.

My fists shook as I clenched them. Bored. Bored? BORED?

"You want me... to do something... to keep you INTERESTED?" I hissed, unsure if I was even speaking Basic anymore – my voice felt like it had devolved into an animalistic growl. It hurt to even speak to Victor. No, it hurt to THINK about him, at that moment.

Victor arrogantly smirked down at me.

"That was the deal."

I think my brain froze. Oh, how I wish in retrospect I could have said something cool and witty; how I wished I could have made a Churchill-ism at him; how I regretted being so dumbstruck and flabbergasted at how self-centered and haughty he was. Just... argh!

"Fine..." I snarled. I think I might have started drooling, I was snarling at him so badly, "You wanna do something interesting? Let's play TAG! I'll be It, and if I catch you, I get to cut off an arm." My hand dropped to saber-ready and I had by lightsaber in my hand.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen: I was willing to use my lightsaber in a not-self-defense situation. I was THAT. KARKING. PISSED.

Victor just sneered, as though daring me to actually do it. I didn't ignite my saber – I was still aware of our public setting, but I did take another swing at him. Victor nimbly hopped backwards, leaving me room to charge. He just leapt out of the way.

We did this all the way down two streets. Each time I got even close to him, Victor would just dart until he was well out of my reach, and he was able to do it just because he was faster than me. There was even a moment where I had him pinned against a wall and he just lifted right up off the ground and onto the building's roof.

I must have looked foolish, but I didn't care – I was mad, and I wanted him to know it.

This went on until five thirty – I know, because that's when I started to run out of energy, I'd chased him all the way into a different quarter of the city, and Victor looked to the horizon and realized it was getting closer to dawn.

"We should probably be getting back to the house, then..." I muttered, vaguely turning my back and staggering away from Victor. He'd probably fly back to the house, and I'd be more than happy to have that time to think as I went my own way.

"I could give you a ride." Victor called after me. Dunno why – maybe he was screwing with me, or maybe he wanted to be sure I'd be in the house at daybreak for some reason. Either way, my response felt good when I said;

"I'll take the bus!" I didn't look back, but I could feel through the Force that it got Victor – either smarted his pride or angered him that he couldn't control me, but it didn't matter to me. I caught the next one that came by, even though it was a route that would take me into the Mid City and even further away from the house.

On the ride, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I was still so mad and so frustrated that I didn't know what to do – Now that I was tired, my brain started to actually think about why I was angry. And, really, to be honest it was a very simple reason: I'd been proud to have a job at all – it had meant something, it had represented a connection to the people on this planet that I otherwise didn't have. It symbolized my own independence, and my own strength, and the fact that I could take care of myself and not need someone else to make my existence worthwhile. I'd had connections at that job – maybe not friends, but people like Marcus and Brode and all the supervisors and administrators, and it had made me part of a group.

Now... now I was back to being a kid. Worse, I was back to being alone, as a kid, on a planet that I didn't belong on. The disconnect hurt me deeper than I ever wanted to admit, least of all to Victor.

In a strange way, it was because Victor had caused it that it stung so personally – I wanted to believe that he'd probably felt isolated and disconnected and it frustrated me that he'd actually want to keep me cut off in exactly the same way.

The bus stopped in the Mid City and the driver told me to get off. I reluctantly caught another bus which would take me at least back to the same approximate neighborhood as the house. By now, the sky was a warm gray with tints of pink, even if the air was still on the chilly side. I still wasn't sure why, but I had noticed that the months were getting slightly cooler. It was actually nice to be on the bus, protected from the wind.

As it neared the stop I needed to get off on, I saw a building's shadow on the hill. Sitting up a little straighter, I saw that it was the outline of the church I'd lured Victor to on the first night I'd led him on a hunt through the city.

And that gave me an idea.

Chapter 14

Victor

I didn't know, nor care much for what Ken did when I wasn't around. Presumably, he was always pawing through something of his current interest in 'Earth culture'. I'd seen him fill out a whole other bookshelf with fiction and non-fiction in the last week, alone. The week before that, he'd brought home a record player and several vinyl albums that I had no clue where he'd found them. I'd always just decided to let him be, so long as he didn't forget exactly why he was allowed in my house.

On a night during the last week of November, I came up from the cellar and found the boy sprawled on the couch with a book of crosswords. Hardly a challenge for him, I imagined, but Ken honestly seemed to be having trouble with it.

"What's a nine letter word for 'Horror monster'? The fourth letter's an 'F'." Were his first words. He didn't even bother looking up from the paper to see me come in, as though it meant nothing.

"Nosferatu." I replied, taking a seat in a chair perpendicular to the couch. If Ken had bothered to look up, his face would have been level with my groin. Instead, he continued to stare at his puzzle, chewing on the end of his pen.

"Hmm. Would I have read anything about it?" This was what still aggravated me about him: That he was so calm and so nonchalant when I'd made bigger men than he swoon or turn red and stammer in the exact same scenario. Any other boy his age, and the position I was just sitting in at the moment would have made them eye me and I could have done as I pleased with their attentions.

So, I justified myself in the things I did that actually caught his attention. It was a form of control, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

It also made me even more irritated with him that he managed to evade me in other respects – if he wanted, he could simply leave, or possibly turn on me. He knew more than any other human I'd let live after feeding on them. Any one else, I would have made into a thrall or had them under my control. Instead, Ken was completely free of any influence I could really have, and the danger he posed made me edgy.

"I would have thought you would have." I replied, sharply. Ken continued to chew on his pen.

"Ah. Is it a film, then? I've been focusing more on literature lately... I know about Carmilla, if that earns me any points." I was growing suspicious that his stubbornness to not look up at me and to keep chewing on his pen were both deliberately to mock me.

"It's not amusing, boy." I told him, tersely.

"What? At least I'm not making any jokes about Sarah Michelle Gellar, right?" He replied, deliberately misreading what I'd said.

(A/N: Behold! As I play the game "How many vampire jokes can I fit into one scene?")

I wanted to grab his hair and force him to look up, but Ken continued, pleasantly, "Besides, I figured you'd want to look like you'd been awake all this time when our guest comes by."

This caught my attention.

"What guest?" I demanded. Ken shrugged, yet again.

"I'uh'nuh. Someone I bumped into on my way home, yesterday. He said he wanted to talk to you, and I told him that you wouldn't be available until nine."

The doorbell rang, just seconds after Ken finished. As though rehearsed, Ken rolled off the couch and sprung up to answer it. I was quicker and blocked the door before he could open it. Ken didn't fight, simply stopped and stared up at me.

"What are you playing at?" I hissed. Ken blinked once, then twice.

"You know, we should let our guest in. He'll just come back if we don't."

He was so calm and so casual about it that I almost wanted to hit him, except I could hear the tiniest bit of a threat in his voice. If it were anyone else trying to threaten me, I would have been able to brush it off, but with Ken, it was the uncertainty that made me withdraw and step back. I'd just sat back down in the chair when I heard the door open.

"Where is he?" I heard a new voice ask.

"In the living room – he just flew in and his arms are tired." Ken's sarcastic imitation of some comedian I couldn't place made me roll my eyes. I didn't bother turning to see who we were supposedly expecting. I was, however, taken aback when I saw a blond, steadily built young man in a Roman collar standing over me with his hand outstretched.

A priest. This was something I hadn't been expecting.

"Victor Boudreaux, I presume?" I glowered at the mocking pleasantness in his voice.

"Who the hell are you?" Was my response. I could be hostile towards Ken, but given that he wasn't the one to actually be disturbing me right now, I fully intended to take my anger out on this priest.

"Father Brahm – I'm the pastor for Santa Monica's Church." If I remembered correctly, that was the same church Ken had used in our first game. The one I tore apart, looking for him. That automatically told me what he was here about.

"And what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from our local zealot?" I still asked, not caring in the slightest what the priest had to say. What did I care what a measly pastor at a run down church had to say? If he caused me any trouble, I could make him disappear. What, did Ken think he'd be able to stop me, so he thought it was funny to wave a priest in front of my nose?

"Actually, your roommate, Mister Gray... he said you might be able to help me with something that's been bothering me, lately."

I shot Ken a glare. His response was to smile, innocently.

"You see, a week or so ago, I found the interior of our chapel vandalized." What a surprise, "I'd been out during the night to see my parishioners and for some time at a homeless shelter, and when I returned in the morning, the pews had been smashed and upturned, the windows broken, and the cross in shambles. Just yesterday, Mister Gray came by and told me that he'd been going by the church at the time and heard someone shouting and talking to someone else. I brought this-" Brahm presented a tape recorder, almost exactly like the one Ken had used during our game.

It was obviously a completely different one – it had to be, given that I'd smashed the one Ken had used – but what did it mean? There was something obviously off about him having it.

"It has your conversation with someone else recorded on it. He found it in the bell tower of our church. Mister Gray was even able to identify your voice." Again, I shot Ken a dirty look, though more to conceal how uneasy I was about this turning up. Even if there had been a recording of that event, I was fairly confident that vampires couldn't be recorded on listening devices, anymore than cameras could take our image. Yet, somehow, a copy had appeared, on the same device that I'd smashed, and the recording had been completely salvaged.

It made me nervous, at the least.

"Then why bother coming to talk to me?" I demanded. I was becoming even more irritated as I grew more impatient.

Brahm's set down the recorder.

"I was hoping I could resolve this without involving the police." Of course he was, "I got the impression you've lost your touch with the Lord." Of course he did, "I'm here in hopes of being able to reach out to you – nobody can ever be completely lost in the Lord's eyes."

"And what if I'm not interested in your pious bullshit?" I snapped, tiredly. It was the same preachy nonsense I'd heard before from another priest, and coming from a wet-behind-the-ears runt like this, it was tired and useless. He didn't have a fucking clue what he was really talking about, nor could he ever hope to comprehend. It always had irritated me the way anyone with a crucifix around his neck seemed to think he could really know what was beyond when they really had no idea.

Like every other priest I'd encountered, he refused to be intimidated, but I could see how my mannerisms had aggravated him.

"If you left me with no choice, I will take this to the police." Brahm took the recorder back, still watching me, "But I honestly don't believe it will come to that – it's often the most angry among us who need God the most."

I sneered, then sat up straighter and made to grab him. The simplest solution was to take the recorder, find out what cheap parlor trick Ken had pulled on me this time, and manipulate the priest's mind. It would be easier – I could still count on my control of a mere human mind.

What I hadn't counted on was that I wouldn't be able to reach him. A sensation shot up through my arm, like a jolt of electricity, which shocked me to the core. My vision split and blurred. My legs weakened. I had no choice but to drop back into my seat, letting my arm fall. Brahm stared at me as though puzzled by what I'd just done, then glance over my shoulder at Ken.

I had to pause and rest my head against my hands and take a deep breath before my vision cleared. Ken wasn't doing this, I was sure – I'd felt this kind of disturbance before. When I looked back up at Brahm, I had a new problem to consider – he was under the protection of the Dark Kingdom. A normal snooping human or meddling priest, I could handle. But an agent of the Dark Kingdom would cause me more trouble than I was prepared to deal with.

"Mister Boudreaux, are you well?" Brahms asked. I watched him carefully for a moment, before sitting up again.

"That's not important. To save us all a lot of trouble, how are you so certain it's my voice you have recorded on that?"

Brahms gave me a skeptical look, then pressed a button on the recorder. I could hear Ken's voice, clear enough that I recognized it perfectly, reciting the words he'd used to taunt me about the rectory being right behind the pulpit. And, much to my shock, my own voice shouting back in response. It was simply undeniable.

This made me pause and think for a moment. How had he gotten this, how had I been recorded in the first place, why didn't he recognize Ken as being the person I was talking to, especially with his distinct accent? There was so little that made sense, but whatever the explanation, I was cornered and the person who had me in such a difficult position, I couldn't even touch.

"Mister Boudreaux, I recognize your voice, and I don't even know you, but I do want to help you. It's obvious there's a great deal of anger in you. You don't have to face it alone."

I could try destroying the tape. Or, maybe I could force him to give it to me – I might not be able to touch him, but I wasn't sure how my other powers would work. I could wait for him to go to the police and just deal with them when they came – it would be simple enough. But it wouldn't be a permanent solution, and it would start a great deal of extra trouble for me.

Both Brahm and I jumped when the phone rang. I didn't have a chance to stand, before Ken answered it.

"Hello?" And his voice was different. It was still that obnoxious drawl he'd used when he'd opened the door, and with a distinct New Orlean accent.

It explained why Brahm hadn't figured out that he was the other person on the recording.

"How did you-? Alright, I'll tell him." Ken came fully into the room and stretched over the couch to hand the phone to Brahm, "He says he wants to talk to you."

Brahm frowned as he took the cordless from Ken, then held it up to his ear, "Hello?"

"Good evening, father." With my ears, I could hear the voice from the speaker from my spot on the couch. That, combined with the look on Brahm's face, I could tell that he recognized it as my voice.

After that, I didn't care what else Brahm heard from the voice on the phone, but I did have the sneaking suspicion that Ken was behind this call. It put me distinctly on edge. Even worse, I couldn't figure out why he would have set it up. Especially since I was also growing suspicious that Ken had engineered the whole evening's events, from Brahm showing up to this moment. Whatever it was, I did not like the uneasiness he was causing me.

"Hey, don't hang up!" Brahm shouted at the phone. All I could hear was an incessant buzzing, which meant the other party clearly had no cares in cutting the connection. This whole time, I couldn't help but wonder exactly how Ken was doing it. Undoubtedly, he was using a recorder or some kind of computer trick to pull it, but what had me baffled.

"Um, Mister Gray?" Brahm spoke up, handing back the phone to Ken.

"Ja?" He asked, still not sounding entirely like himself.

"Could you tell me what the caller ID number was for that call?" Brahms looked like he wanted to be panicked but was forcing himself to breathe slowly. I could see the veins in his neck bulging, like muscles when they're being flexed.

"Mm... sorry – th'thingie here says 'Unregistered number'." I did have to hand it to Ken, he was doing a superb job at pretending he wasn't involved in this incident. Brahms didn't say anything. I could smell his sweat starting to flow – the only thing more distinctive would be if he pissed himself.

"...I see..." Brahms picked himself up. I could see his knees shaking, "I'm sorry to have bothered you... I have to go."

It was almost comical, the way he stumbled out of the room – as though he wanted to run, but couldn't make his legs move the right way. I didn't move until I heard Ken shut the door behind him, but the moment I could, I swiftly came around to pin Ken against the door.

The boy didn't even flinch.

"I can't believe he FELL for that." Ken's voice was back to normal, which was the surest sign that he'd meddled in some way. It was also the very thing that kept me from crushing his throat – if Ken was willing to be brazen about what he'd done, it meant he wanted me to know.

And when he wanted to show off, I'd come to understand that there was something else he had in the works, and I was always curious, in spite of myself.

"Where did you get the recording from, boy?" I demanded. Ken turned around, completely relaxed in front of me, but there was a tension in his face – like he wanted to stay calm to make me nervous, but there was something else that was bothering him.

"I didn't provide him with the recorder. Sure, I'd PLANNED to make one up and deliver it, just to cause you a little trouble, but he already had it when I went to see him last night." Ken replied, folding his arms over his chest. Irritated with his cool attitude, I grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the door over his head, "Ow!"

"Where did he get it?" I repeated, hissing.

"I don't KNOW-" My grip on his wrist tightened, "-There was this lady at the church... tall, dark skinned, spoke with an accent... she gave him the tape. I've got no clue who she was."

I released Ken's wrist. He might not have had any idea, but I could recognize that description, anywhere.

Maybe it was just the attachment of a vampire to his creator, but I had an urge to go hunting for Tiseria. The Ethiopian sorceress who'd turned me, two-thousand years ago, promising me power that would finally overcome Joshu's god and make him mine. Power that I'd received... and that had done me nothing.

Ken slumped down to the floor. I pressed my foot against his cheek before he could get back up. When one of his eyes opened to glance up at me, I finally saw real fear in it – something I'd been trying to instill in Ken since the first day. A sense of dominance. A reason for him to show a little respect.

"Get up." I finally said, taking my foot off his face and standing over him. Ken quickly struggled to his feet, as though suddenly aware that he was on the floor and ashamed of it.

Shame. Fear. Respect. It excited me to see him showing me this side of him.

Before Ken could edge away, I grabbed him by the throat. It was completely different from any other encounter we'd had, up until now. This time, I had the control. He would obey me. It had been a long hunt, but he'd succumbed, in the end. In the end, he'd been just a boy, just as human as any other prey I'd ever conquered, just as weak and fragile.

"Victor... who was that woman?" Ken mumbled. My grip on his throat tightened, just for a little.

"What business is it of yours?" I hissed. Ken choked and coughed for a moment before apparently regaining composure enough to think about a counter argument.

"She knew who you were, and it's pretty obvious that she wants to hurt you, in some way. She wouldn't have given that priest the tape recording if she didn't want you to be bothered by other humans." He spat, glowering at me. And now, he was angry with me. That was fine – it was anger that I had MADE him feel, "...I should know if there's anyone who might be stopping by the house to, I dunno, set it on fire or something."

I should have been suspicious of him being so shortsighted, but I assumed it was because he didn't know anything about Tiseria. I knew her. More than that, I knew what kinds of things the Dark Kingdom would do. I'd survived a confrontation with them, before. I knew what they were capable of, what they'd try. Ken didn't, and he had no way of finding out, unless I were to tell him.

I could hold his strings.

"So, you want to try and help me, is that it?" I sneered. Ken regarded me for a moment, before slowly shaking his head.

"No... but I would like to know enough to try and protect myself." Was his answer. I hadn't expected him to be this calm – but I suppose that was what made me appreciate Ken more than other humans I'd encountered in the past. He wasn't clingy and weak like other boys that had thrown themselves at my feet, but he also didn't try to dominate me without me letting him, the way some pushy bishops had. He didn't even want to be a part of me – that was irritating, but I expected I could extend my control over him with enough time, and then it would be just fine. Independent with his needs, but under me for the slightest permission.

Looking back, I should have known it was foolish, but I didn't see any reason to keep the information from him. I relented.

"She used to be a sorceress. She lived in Judea, just outside Jerusalem, selling potions and spells, I'd assume." Ken cocked his head at the right angle that I knew he'd be asking me what I meant by that, "I saw her twice. The second time, she changed me into this." I gestured along the length of my body, enough that Ken understood what I meant.

He silently regarded me for a moment. Then, his next question had a discernible note of anxiety to it.

"Is she dangerous?"

I just smirked back at him. If tonight was any indicator, Tiseria was going to use that priest to make trouble for me. I could handle that, now that I knew he was going to be her pawn. The trick was going to be keeping Ken from interfering.

Granted, his intervention had saved me this time, but that meant nothing to me. He'd be in the way if I didn't keep him on a leash.

I stepped over Ken. I could feel him staring at me as I passed through the door and into the streets. First, I'd follow that priest and find out what I can.

Then, I was going to need some much more serious information about Ken. And I had one lead.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I returned to the house at an early morning hour – Brahms had made no routes of any interest, just going to an Inner City homeless shelter before returning to the church, and I'd wasted an hour prowling around the building, waiting for something else to happen. I suppose it had been too soon to expect that Tiseria would appear or check on him or anything of the sort, but it frustrated me that I hadn't even had anything to show from following Brahms.

I could force myself to be patient. But I was finding myself uncharacteristically nervous enough that I didn't want to be patient. That, and because I'd wasted time on Brahms, I'd have to put off my research into Ken's background. Even if it was one night, it made me antsy.

When I opened the door, I could hear the radio playing an old Beatles song at full blast, which told me that Ken was still awake. The den's lights were all still on, and when I rounded the corner, I found Ken stretched across the couch, his laptop open and the screen glowing as he tapped away at the keyboard.

"You didn't see her, I take it?" Were Ken's first words. I paused in the door, then deliberately hit the lightswitch. The only light left in the room was the glow from his computer. I was immediately more comfortable.

"What business is it of yours?" I snarled at him. Ken chuckled, but didn't answer me in favor of singing along with the song on the radio. After waiting for several minutes, I walked up behind Ken and looked over his shoulder. It hurt my eyes as much as staring directly into the sun would a human's eyes, but I managed to see that he was watching something on his screen.

"What is that?" I asked, finally looking away with the pretense of finding a book on the shelf.

"Father Brahms took the tape recorder with him, right?" Ken asked, simply. When I turned around to frown at him, he was looking up from his computer. The screen's light reflected in his eyes like some sort of unnatural fire. It made him look somehow... inhuman.

"What do you care?" I retorted, just as determined not to answer him until he'd answered my question. Ken raised an eyebrow, as though he were considering doing the same – if he wanted to evade answering me until I'd answered him, then who knew how long we would have gone without answers to each other's questions – but then he shrugged.

"I managed to work a GPS chip into it. All you need is access to satellite information and a computer." He said. Almost immediately, I understood what he was hinting at: If Brahms gave the recorder back to Tiseria, or if he went anywhere unusual, I'd have a chance to track him.

Or, more appropriately, Ken could track him. And that meant Ken was trying to wrest some control out of me.

This irritated me.

"And when did you do this, boy?" I demanded. Ken propped himself up on one elbow and bent his neck backwards, as though seeing me from that peculiar angle would help him understand me, somehow.

"When do you think?" Was his answer.

Irritated, I grabbed him under the chin and pulled him off the couch. His computer toppled to the floor and his feet dangled as I held him up to the ceiling. But his eyes remained on me and didn't even blink or flinch.

What the hell? What happened to that whimpering little bitch from just a few hours ago? It was like Ken didn't even remember me almost breaking his arm.

It was like he was someone else – or something else – entirely.

"Victor." Ken was speaking calmly and quietly, so calmly and quietly that I had no choice but to hear him. I could have been shouting at the top of my lungs and his voice still would have cut through to me. I set him down.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, or help you." Ken continued to speak in that perfectly calm, perfectly even voice. I didn't let go of his throat. His pulse wasn't even beating quickly. It wasn't just an act – he was calm and completely at ease. That made me even more nervous, "I just want to be left alone and not bothered – by other humans or otherwise."

He also wasn't blinking. I could see straight into those gray eyes of his – his pupils had dilated in the lack of real light, leaving the silvery gray to nothing but rings around their edges. I hadn't realized it until now, but no Human on Earth had eyes this gray. There were no inconsistencies, no flecks of other colors or striations of darker gray. It was just the same, bright, almost impossibly metallic color all the way through.

"But..." Ken blinked, as though aware that I'd been examining him so closely and deliberately baiting me, "I have nowhere else to go. I have no more means to pay for any rent, and if anywhere ran a background check, I would have no legitimate identification or resource to cite. And if I were to make one up or slice into someone's computer bank, it would give me a chance, but it would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the fraud and I would find myself in a predicament, either way."

When he said it like that, I couldn't help but wonder if he was taunting me – he was weak, and he was helpless. I was his only chance. He did need me.

And yet, I couldn't even hope to control him.

"So, the only option left is that I stay here and I keep the troublesome forces away. And, for that, I need to understand what I'm up against."

I let go. So help me, but there was just something in his eyes, again. I'd wondered what it was that I'd found so fascinating, and for the longest time, it might have been that he wasn't from this world. But then, what did that matter to me, when he was just a normal Human being? He was still thin-skinned and weak, just as much as any other Human.

Then, it might have been because of his cleverness. He'd been able to outsmart me and do it on a consistent enough basis that I'd grasped a real scope of it. But, at the same time, intelligence like that could only run so long before I grew bored of it. And his games had been starting to wear on me.

Now, I understood. From the first night I'd met him, I'd wondered if he reminded me of someone, and I could see it – it was that same indomitable will as Joshu's. I'd told myself it wasn't the same, and it wasn't... but it was so eerily close. So intangibly similar. Something about Ken just reeked the same way, something in how he would not surrender, but not because of fear or out of any pathetic notion of chastity or purity. It was something in his mind, something that I couldn't touch.

And it made me wonder. It made me wonder if I should bow, just a little, enough to get closer to him, enough to... to...

I turned away and politely picked Ken's computer off the floor. It was still miraculously functioning, even though I'd sent it down in a crash. And then, I took a seat in a chair. I found myself with a strange sense of calm, one that I hadn't felt in years. I was relaxed, and I didn't mind it.

Ken came back around the couch and sat, as though accepting the unspoken trust I was handing to him. As though he understood. I didn't even understand, but I did know that, for whatever reason, my begrudging interest and respect for his insolent talents was starting to foster something that might have been acceptance.

With that, I began to explain everything that I could.

Chapter 15

Ken

I hate myself.

I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself. I. HATE. Myself. I hate myself so goddamn much...

Oh, that little promise I'd made to myself about NOT using the Force was working out just fine. If, by just fine, I mean I'd BLATANTLY used it TWICE in ONE night! Once, to work a GPS chip into a tape recorder while both Victor and Brahms had been distracted by the phone call. The second time, to project enough of an aura to calm Victor down and manipulate him into giving me the information I'd needed.

Yeah, not even little things like just sensing someone's presence or to heal someone. At least those kinds of reactions or uses of the Force are for a good reason – they could be just to get away, to avoid conflict, to help someone who's been injured... This... I'd deliberately done it just to bend Victor around until he'd given me information, all of which I planned on using against him if I'd need to defend myself against him, or just for my own curiosity.

...I... I FRACKING HATE MYSELF!

Alright... So, with that being said and done and there's nothing I can do to change what I've done, all that was left was to keep going forward with learning as much about vampires as I could. Victor told me about Tiseria – I didn't see any point in thinking of her by that ridiculously obvious alias, anymore – and Joshu and why he'd fled from Pilate's men and turned, how he'd survived through the monasteries through the millennia, and he told me about Michael, and the murdered Luke and Andrea, and Paul, and Sonia Masjke coming to Georgetown before he'd fled, a little over two years ago, and the horrific things she'd done to try and force him to the bidding of the Dark Kingdom.

(A/N: And this is me saying 'No, I'm not telling you the story, either as Ken interprets it or as Victor tells it. Go read the books for your damn selves. You're all over 18, right?' The author is Michael Schiefelbein, whom also is an ordained minister for the United Church of Christ (!) and community leader for Pilgrim House in Memphis, TN. Look the books up on Amazon.)

About halfway through his story, I hadn't been able to tell if I thought he was the most despicable thing I'd ever have the displeasure to meet (Pardon my high-mindedness, but I don't tend to think kindly of anyone who willingly recounts the time they raped someone) or if I pitied him for the distinct possibility that he might not have been completely in control of himself at any point for all these years.

That, and the recounting of the Dark Kingdom's influence over him seemed awfully... familiar... to some other conflict I'd either seen or been involved in.

_And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Jedi Prince?_

When Victor finished, I'd had a few questions. Most were scientific in nature, so even I was surprised when the first one I asked was,

"So, you really believe that Joshu's God actually exists." I suppose I really was curious about this. Victor came across to me as someone who never believed anything he didn't want to. So, the fact that he willingly referred to Joshu as the son of a God he didn't believe in and Heaven as a real place that he didn't believe in threw me for a bit of a loop.

Victor's response was to shrug.

"I believe he's a controlling bastard who was too self-righteous to just rule like any other god would and decided to subjugate his followers by instilling them with shame about their own flesh and desires." He snapped.

Well, it sounded like a less bloody path of rule. I had to make a personal note to read up on various legends of gods and deities to see exactly where he got these differences from. None of this made any sense to me, given that I didn't know any of the legends.

"And you honestly believe in Heaven then?" I continued, deciding not to pursue the topic of god. If living with Miss Kendalina had taught me anything, it was how to be skeptical, "Sounds like a nice place. Why would you rather stay here as a ghoul that has to sleep in a karking coffin than go there?"

Victor gave probably the most derisive snort I will ever hear from a living creature, anywhere, and glared at me.

"And spend eternity on my knees in front of a throne to a worthless king?"

I could think of a few responses to that, but I had the distinct feeling that Victor might actually kill me if I said any of them. Worse, his response sounded similar to someone else's argument I'd heard about religion, once.

"_What, you expect me to throw away my principles and ability to think just so some institutionalized religion can use me as a mouthpiece? No thank you." _Why I connected Victor's disdain and despicable attitude with Miss Kendalina, I'll never understand. They just didn't seem to make any sense. But I didn't have time to dwell on it.

"And that's where the Dark Kingdom comes in, I'm assuming?" I pressed. Victor shrugged.

"They gave me the promise of power and an alternative to having to die a mortal death. After that, anything the Dark Kingdom could do was cause me more trouble than they were worth."

"And in order to move on, you just needed to find a successor after two-hundred years. Why didn't you just get that finished with. It must have been easy enough to do – all you'd have to do is find someone either stupid and shallow enough, or someone desperate enough to not die. Any Faust character would have jumped for you to be their Mephistopheles." I pointed out. Victor gave me a look of perfect disgust. I guess I deserved that, given that he'd given a pretty detailed description of what the agents of the Dark Kingdom had done to make his (not) life miserable over the last three years, but my sense of values still didn't understand how anyone would prefer to stay in a mortal realm and be vulnerable to more trouble, rather than go into that afterlife and have my enemies close enough that I could anticipate their movements.

Oh well. If my opponent – namely Victor – was a tactical imbecile, that was just an advantage for me.

That was the end of our conversation. The evening had been eventful enough with having to play both a tactical strategist enough that Victor would respect me, but foolish and naïve enough that he would underestimate me. I didn't want to push it, so I left him to finish with however he wanted to end the night.

The next day, I spent putting all my energy into devising as many scenarios as might come at me given the Dark Kingdom.

From what Victor had described, it was like an afterlife with more than one ruler. Actually, he made it sound like an afterlife where every resident could have the same power as the ruler.

How... unorthodox. And if it was supposed to be a Kingdom, how were they all supposed to be rulers? Someone would have to be the subjects, they couldn't all be elite. Maybe that was what had occurred to Victor, and he couldn't take the idea of not being more powerful than everyone else.

_But you're more powerful than him, Ken. You could dominate him. That's why he fears you._ And... I really needed to stop thinking about Victor's kriffed up issues with power and control. He was just a little power-mad, case closed, that's all I ever needed to know or think about it.

But, in any case, if every resident was capable of the same power and ruthlessness as Victor – and, undoubtedly they all would be, if one needed to be like Victor in order to survive long enough to make it into the Dark Kingdom – that would mean I'd have to fight to kill in order to defend myself. And if they did the same things they did to cause Victor trouble, then Father Brahms was probably going to be one of their pawns, and I'd be seeing more of that coming to the house and interrupting my daily life.

Either way, I was going back into a war. That meant my next project was to figure out what I could use as a weapon and what the scopes were.

And, given what I'd done already, I had a place to start.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The next night, when Victor came up from the cellar, I put the first of my elaborate preparations to the test by flashing it in his face. Much to my satisfaction, Victor collapsed into a ball on the floor, shivering as though he was seizing. His arms and legs flailed, out of his control as he tried to get away from it. He screamed and I saw tears going down his face, like a little child in a medcenter having immunization injections done at the same time as having blood drawn for testing.

...Like he was being tortured. All this, from the special lamp I'd cobbled together.

I shut it off. The flashing light stopped. Victor's screaming stopped and when I turned on one of the softer lamps in the living room corner, he was very still, as though recovering from being pulled out of drowning. I pressed a hand against his face and was surprised to feel something resembling warmth – not quite warm, but room temperature, at the least, and given that Victor was almost always as icy cold as the concrete in the cellar or the metal that decorated his coffin, that was something.

One of Victor's hands flailed about, as though trying to grab me. I had sense enough to get out of the way – and, I suppose, luck enough that Victor was too weak to be up to his usual speed or strength that he normally would have gotten me by my larynx. Right, I suppose I'd been too careless.

Note to Ken: Make sure you'll be that lucky next time. Mostly by not just outright jumping to touch Victor after you've tried to kill him.

I'd already gotten back to the living room by the time Victor had pulled himself to his feet. From the shadows he cast as he stumbled into the room, I could tell he was unsteady on his feet. Maybe what I'd done had done more than cause pain – maybe it had affected his brain or his circulation and threw off his sense of balance.

"Need a drink?" I asked, offering Victor a glass of my own blood I'd set aside. It seemed like a smarter idea than letting Victor get close to me immediately after I'd flashed a strobe light in his face. He staggered to a halt next to the table and unsteadily handled the glass.

"So, what was that like?" Nothing to do but go straight into the inquiry after I could be sure Victor wouldn't drop dead on me. The blood had seemed to do him some good – at any rate, he was sitting upright under his own steam.

"What the hell did you just do to me, boy?" He replied. Of course.

"That, my friend..." I turned as sharply as I could. I saw him cringe at my calling him 'friend', as though it was an insult made of barbed wire, "Was a lantern consisting of a stage light box and reflector, then three different lightbulbs – one a grow light, to simulate the radiation of the sun; one a high-lumen emanating bulb, used in searchlights, to give some brute force to it; and one a common strobe light for the disorienting effect." After all, one of the weaknesses that Victor had explained was that he couldn't go out into the sunlight. It only made sense to put that to some use. The only downside was that the lantern was rather unwieldy, and required a completely separate battery that normally powered a car, and even that couldn't be used for long.

But Victor didn't need to know that.

"Now, I do need to know exactly what it does – if it just causes you pain or if it actually harms you in any way." I explained, pulling up a spreadsheet on my computer, ready to document. Victor gave me one of the most venomous glares he'd given me, to date, "Do you need me to turn it on a second time, just to be sure?"

He finished drinking out of the glass. I saw streaks of the dark crimson liquid sneaking around the corners of his lips, as though he was trying to drink it down so quickly that it was backfiring into his cheeks.

"I'm still dizzy." He finally replied, once his mouth was clear, "During the flash, I was ready to vomit, if I'd had anything to regurgitate. And I wasn't able to tell where you were, nor smell or hear or see clearly. I feel like I might still be that way if it hadn't been for this." He gestured with the empty glass.

Nausea. Dizziness. Disorientation. Mental confusion. Excellent. My fingers gladly flew over the keyboard and entered in the data. Of course, there was the chance that Victor was lying, hoping to get me to lower my guard. Well, if that turned out to be true, I'd have a few extra surprises – and, thinking on Victor's character, the moment I acted casual and gave him the opportunity to strike, he'd take and try to grab me. I knew when that would be.

"Hang on – I'm gonna get some water, then you can have some more. Fresh blood will probably help you get over it, quicker." I pulled myself up and half-limped into the kitchen, stretching my cramped foot as casually, yet obviously, as I could.

I paused at the kitchen sink, waiting for the water to turn cold. Two seconds, three seconds, four... I didn't even hear any noise from behind me. Filled my glass. Seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds... No creaking floorboards, no shuffling of someone getting up. If Victor meant to come after me, I'd be hearing some of that by now.

I gulped a glass of water, then filled it again. Still nothing, at seventeen seconds. A second glass of water, and then I quickly strode back to the living room. Victor was leaning against the back of the couch, eyes closed, face tilted away from the lamp on the floor, as though it were burning him.

Quickly, I hit the lightswitch and turned the lamp off. The transition to almost complete darkness made my eyes hurt, but I saw Victor sit up.

Right. So, either he was thinking several steps ahead of me and pulling this act for all he could, or he was seriously in pain.

I somewhat doubted the first option – Victor had proven to be horrible at thinking ahead in other situations, be it chess or when he demanded a challenge of wits. Granted, that could have been an act to keep ahead of me in it's own right, but from what I knew of Victor's pride and how he hated to be bested in anything, that was unlikely. So... it was highly likely that the data he'd given me just now was trustworthy.

But not one-hundred percent. Not until Victor could prove to be one-hundred percent trustworthy.

_Oh, and you're one to be talking about being trustworthy._ As though to spite the part of me that was aware of my own hypocrisy, I reached out and steadied Victor's head with my hands and pressed my wrist against his lips. As though he'd never been injured, Victor grabbed my arm and sank his fangs into the vein. It hurt – like the way a biting insect does, only it was two spots on my arm – but not nearly as much as Victor's grip on my arm did. It was as though he intended to break the bones under my skin, and then caress the broken fragment.

Probably would, too. Wouldn't surprise me if he'd done it before.

When Victor released my arm, it was clear that he was fine, once again. If I ever had reason to worry about my own safety, now was the time for it.

_You don't need to fear._ And that, I knew I didn't. But it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"What did you do to me?" Were the first words out of his mouth. So, he was confused as well as dependent on me for an answer. I could live with that.

"I just put a few things together. From what you told me about vampires, I was able to devise ways of defending myself, just in case I would ever need it." I was calm. I probably shouldn't have been, but I was, "Light is enough to stun you, even cause you some physical symptoms. Then, because your body temperature is so low, I figured heat would serve as an effective weapon, but since you're able to heal so quickly, it would have to be an extreme temperature – probably in the tens of thousands of degrees Celsius. That ruled out electricity, unless one were to take the power of an entire city's grid, since it would be the same temperature as that of a lightning strike." I failed to mention that I was working on a few other contraptions. Not to mention, of course, the extreme opposite would probably hold true – and keeping liquid forms of gasses was easier than maintaining an extreme temperature.

Apparently, it was enough for Victor that I'd just admitted that I lacked two major resources against him. His arm shot out and grabbed me around the throat (Count: Fourth time, this week) and probably would have either crushed my larynx or stabbed my jugular with his fangs had I not pressed the end of my lightsaber right up against his breastbone.

He paused.

"It's also, coincidentally enough, the same temperature as the plasma in lightsaber blades and blaster bolts." And I let the threat hang.

Victor was still staring down at my lightsaber. Maybe it was a good thing that he still considered that to be the only real threat I had, but it still agitated me that he didn't take me seriously.

_Seriously? He hasn't tried to force you since the first night, and you want him to take you seriously?_ Well, okay, compared to other conquests he'd told me about, I suppose he did treat me with more respect than any other person he'd ever... But there was still part of me that said that wasn't enough. That it wasn't just about how he behaved, and it wasn't just me.

Damn it, I was having a hard enough time with trying to figure out how vampire biology worked. I didn't need the extra headache of psychoanalyzing Victor, let alone myself.

I didn't expect Victor to take a swipe at me that knocked my lightsaber clear out of my hands. It went skittering across the floor, blade retracting as the handle landed button-down before rolling. With barely any time to react, I found myself pinned as Victor pounced. My feet came up to press against his stomach, to keep him from actually crushing me, even as his hands wrapped around my wrists and pressed my arms tightly against the floor.

As odd as it might sound, I wasn't scared. Startled, yes, but my mind was buried in the technicals of the data I'd compiled and in thinking about what it meant for Victor's psyche that he was frightened of me when I had a lightsaber in my hands but not when I was unarmed and with my back to him. I wasn't thinking about what he might do to me, but how he thought he could do worse to me than what I'd already been through. Defiant, I pushed my feet against him as hard as I could.

Through the cloth and the padding in my shoes, I felt something hard. Something solid and shaped so that it was not alterable. I kicked against it as hard as I could, and Victor let out a sharp yell. One of pain, like a normal Human being stabbed to the bone with a knife.

I kicked again, before Victor had a chance to recover.

He went flying across the room. Even with that, he was more focused on whatever it was I'd kicked that had caused him so much pain. By the time I'd gotten up from my position on the floor, Victor was curled up, clutching his leg as though it was causing him unbearable pain. It was the kind of expression I expected from someone suffering from gangrene, or as though his limb had sprouted teeth and was chewing on his other limbs, or like a cover of a great song by the Glee crew.

Blood. There was blood seeping through his fingers. Something had actually cut him, and was keeping him bleeding.

Without a second thought to it, I strode across the room and reached into the pocket in his pants. Something pulled against me, like an anchor at the bottom of a river. I had to fight for a moment until I'd pulled out a thin chain with something attached. A small, half-round sliver of a little piece of metal.

No, not metal. It was a crystal. And it gleamed like silver in the scarce light. Well, the part that wasn't covered in Victor's blood.

My birthstone. Bastard had it on himself the whole time.

"Victor..." I began, realizing that Victor's breathing was resuming a more natural pace. Instead of gasping for short breaths, he seemed to be relaxing, and I could see that his grip on his leg was loosening. If I'd been in a less puzzled state, I might have insisted on seeing the damage, first-hand and up close.

Looking back on it, I'm glad I hadn't – it would have required me taking Victor's pants off, a feat I was in no eager hurry to experience.

On the other hand, Victor was staring at me in utter bewilderment. Obviously, he had no idea what had been the cause of that, nor how or why. At the very least, it was something to question.

With a slight consideration, I carefully wiped the corner of my birthstone on the corner of my shirt, then, after another moment of checking that the crystal's surface, I attempted to use it to cut my own hand. Each edge of it felt dull and worn – hardly likely to give me more than a paper cut, let alone a stab like it had apparently done to Victor. I even tried to impale one of my fingers on the corner tips.

All this time, Victor was staring at me, clearly as uneasy as I was confused.

Victor was uneasy. No, more than that, he was outright spooked. Never thought I'd be using those two words together.

Still, there was something I understood from this – for whatever reason, it seemed reasonable to conclude that silver was harmful to vampires.

Shrugging, I slid the chain back around my neck.

_So, the one thing that you have left connecting you to your father is also a weapon that protects you against bloodsuckers._ The irony was enough that I cheerfully avoided Victor for the rest of the evening.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It finally occurred to me how little I realized I'd been expecting. When I'd formulated a plan in case Tiseria decided to "Come after me" or something, I'd actually thought she might. Weeks went by without anything happening. I would try to fill my time with either conducting experiments – some of which Victor actually consented to, including my fashioning a heat protective suit that would serve as protection if he was actually exposed to sunlight (you should know that it was the strangest thing I have ever done) – or with doing more of my exploration into the planet.

Two things grew of interest to me, both which ended up playing a role in most of the events that followed.

One was a form of entertainment on the planet Earth, which opened up into a specific story. The basic outline was a young boy witnessed the murder of his parents by a criminal, and then, when he grew up, decided to become a vigilante to protect the city. The art was sleek and stylish in virtually all forms, there were a myriad of characters each with a complex personality and background, and any "Movies" almost always had wonderful soundtracks accompanying the action.

This would come into play in how I related to Victor much later on, but the immediate effect was it gave me some common ground with other Humans on the planet. And one of them, I met in my second endeavor – at a higher education facility.

This second area of interest was called a "College" or "University". Having heard of universities back home, I correctly assumed these facilities were schools for further learning after the compulsory education provided for underage citizens. It was also, I discovered, rather necessary for most jobs in New Orleans.

And, after I had registered for classes in the semester of January from the local university, it was where I met a new friend.

It was odd, I supposed, in retrospect, that just doing one simple thing would lead me to some interesting discoveries about myself and Victor. When I told him that I was planning to attend classes and hopefully earn a degree, he was less than pleased. Said that he wanted to know that I wouldn't try to meet Tiseria or Father Brahms while I was out.

I presumed that meant he was jealous.

My suspicions were confirmed when, one night, Victor returned to the house while I was spending time with my new friend.

"Who is this?" Were the first words out of Victor's mouth when he saw the stranger on the opposite end of the couch from myself. The two of us were watching a movie on the television and occasionally spouting out commentary about the ridiculousness of it or laughing at the not-funny humor spouted by the Riddler. I craned my head to smirk at Victor – partly because I was happy to have gotten back at him, and partly because I was genuinely in a good mood.

"Peter. We have the same World Religions class at school." I explained, simply.

Victor gave me a suspicious look, then over to Peter. If I were to ever say that I could tell when he was going to pounce on me, afterwards, it was that moment. Indeed, the moment Peter left to go home, I had to brandish the lantern in Victor's face to keep him off of me. It didn't surprise me, but I somehow walked away with bruises on my arms.

The next day, I rather insisted on taking Peter out for Thai food and curry for lunch. At the very least, some incredibly spicy food would make him smell repulsive, and Victor would be especially sensitive to it. Since I had discovered that diet affected how blood smelled and tasted to Victor, my theory was that a consistent diet of certain foods would give Peter at least some layer of defense. If nothing else, Victor'd be sorry if he decided to make Peter his late night snack.

But apart from that, life in the house seemed relatively calm. For as much as I was on my guard, I certainly didn't expect anything like what did happen.

Chapter 16

Victor

So, this was the game Ken wanted to play, was it?

Just when I thought I had him pinned down, he pulled this on me – taking classes at the university, having a distinct schedule that would have him out of the house when I didn't want him to be, bringing other people into the house without my permission. It infuriated me to see him so easily undermine any authority I had in our association.

With that in mind, I thought I finally found a way to keep him under my control.

And, as embarrassing as it was, it involved a DVD set of the Star Wars trilogy.

Towards the end of January, I began watching it during the night-time hours. Not making any huge production out of it, just enough to seem casual. I would leave it playing when Ken came home from whatever he was doing outside of the house with his new friends, or when he brought his computer into the room to do homework. I kept my distance from him, stopped insisting that he provide me with entertainment on the nights we spent together, and let him stretch a little.

It would be worth it. If he pulled anymore stunts like the ones he'd done in the past, I'd have a chance to reel him back in.

The opportunity came when one night, Ken was the one to ask if I wanted to watch while he did some homework.

"Maybe. What do you have to do?" I asked, pretending I was suspicious. Ken just shrugged and held up a book.

"Just some statistics. Nothing I haven't done before. So, are you coming or what?" He didn't wait for me to answer and departed for the other room. That was good – he was showing interest without my prodding.

After several minutes of alternatively watching the screen and Ken writing answers out of his textbook, I pushed into a conversation.

"Boy." Ken didn't even look up.

"Yes, Geezer?" I let it go – there were other things I wanted to accomplish to be distracted by childish, petty names.

"What do you think of these movies?" This time, Ken did look up. There was a bright, puzzled look in his eyes – the same kind of curious light that entered them whenever he dove into those experiments of his, trying to discern something about how vampire's bodies functioned, "Is this really what this galaxy was like? Was there anything different? Why do their technologies work, but they haven't been discovered on Earth... do you ever think about that when you're watching these?"

The light brightened in Ken's eyes. His whole face seemed to glow.

Which could only mean he didn't suspect a thing.

"Actually, it's more accurate than I gave it credit for, at first. Sure, there are some things off – the ship designs are a little too odd. Most star cruisers have actually a very similar shape to most Earth air and space craft – I guess it just has to do with the engineering necessary to break gravitational pull and escape the atmosphere." Ken immediately launched into long-winded rambles about the historical accuracy, the personalities and appearance of creatures and characters that showed on the screen, his theories about why Humans on Earth had developed different technology than his home galaxy – "Actually, I did wonder if it was just Earth hadn't advanced as far, but you have plenty of technologies that we hadn't even thought of. My theory is that it started with the first discovery of the planet – maybe on Earth, Humans developed tools like the wheel and hunting tools first, while in our galaxy, Humans developed a source of energy like fire before we did other tools. But, that's just a theory." – and then, he started to pick apart all of the people who featured.

"So, Obi-Wan Kenobi went by the name 'Ben' because of a technicality in the way his name was written in the Aurebesh alphabet?" I clarified, pretending I was listening to his ramble.

"That, and he didn't look or sound like the actor they picked here – the planet he was born on, Stewjon, has a very distinct accent, closer to that of native to India here on Earth, and combine that with Coruscanti accents, since that's where he had to grow up, being inside the Jedi Temple and all, it would be a very different speech pattern. Still, I get why they cast Alec Guinness for this – some of the other holos I've seen him in, he has a very focused, very concentrated attitude about him, which is perfect for Master Kenobi. Kinda like if I were to make a holodrama about our galaxy's history, I'd pick someone like you to play Grand Admiral Thrawn, even though you look nothing like him and aren't even the same species." Ken replied, babbling so quickly I could barely catch the words. His book and homework lay, forgotten, on the floor.

(A/N: *Boom* NO! The metafiction meter! Thanks a lot, Ken.)

I didn't think much of these details, not as Ken moved from the Human characters to the droids, even pausing to stop the movies and explain in detail how each of the technologies worked. It was a very different side of him than he'd shown to me before – not reserved or stingy about information, and certainly not guarded in terms of connecting. I might have paid more attention to the details about the mechanical talk if I wasn't absolutely sure I wouldn't remember enough of it.

Ken finally had to pause to take a breath and I took the moment to turn the player back on. I didn't hear any more commentary from Ken, not as the iconic scene with Darth Vader and Skywalker played.

Odd, that of all moments in these movies so far, the one that Ken didn't talk during was this one.

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk as much as you did, tonight." I finally commented, turning my attention from the screen. Ken blinked a few times, as though only just realizing that I'd been addressing him. Then, he awkwardly smiled.

"Yeah. Captain Solo and the Rogue Squadron used to pick on me for that, all the time." He agreed, "I remember, Major Janson had one conversation with me, and I wouldn't shut up about flowers and the pollination process – and, come on, it was a big deal for me; I'd never seen a flower before in my life, what with growing up underground and all – and he responded by saying 'We gotta beat the sissy outta you, boy.' And, every other time I started talking about something, he'd do that thing where they'd all let me talk for a few minutes, then look at me and say 'Are you still talking?'" Ken trailed off, ruefully laughing at himself.

"Ah. So, they really wanted you to be one of the men, did they?" I agreed. This was something I hadn't known, before. Ken had interacted with these people, not just known and read about them.

"That's how they put it. Luke didn't though." My ears pricked up at Ken's mentioning the name 'Luke', "He was always very careful, always said that everyone learned at different paces. He said that patience was more important than trying to fit in – I guess Captain Solo and Major Janson and the other Rogues just did what they thought was right and Luke did what he thought was right." Ken trailed off, and then grew distracted by the screen, again, "And this really is a pretty incredible adaptation – I mean, the actor they picked to play Luke really looks a lot like him. I remember reading that this actor was in a vehicular accident or something, and that's why he looks different, but it's especially cool to think that the effects are very similar to the scars the real Luke has from being in a war, attacked by a wampa, surviving multiple crashes and lightsaber duels, not to mention just natural occupational hazards of being a Jedi or working with machinery. I mean, the only way they could get it closer was to have the actual person portray him. That, or just make the feature animated or something, and get all the little details in like sunspots he would have gotten from working under the sun on Tattooine, or certain little scars from when he was working repairs on a ship, or the little color gradations in his eyes – but those are, admittedly, just little things..."

And that was the end of any semblance of silence from Ken for the rest of the night. Straight through the rest of the movies, he would not stop, and proceeded to tell me virtually every little anecdote or story about the time he'd spent with Skywalker.

It was more than what I needed to know – there were a few little details he told me that I remembered, if only because it would give me something against him – but the most important detail was very clear: This boy, right before me, had wanted Skywalker. Just as I had wanted Joshu.

I hadn't thought it was possible, but I relished the similarity – I had experience like this. Ken, on the other hand, obviously didn't have a clue what he was supposed to do with himself.

"So, you think he liked you better than the Rogues did or something?" I asked, casually. Ken immediately shook his head.

"Of course not – Captain Solo and the other men understood that I'd had a different upbringing from other boys. It's just that Luke saw it as not needing to change – and, to be fair, in a very military environment, conformity to a certain standard is preferable to being different when that difference could get you in trouble. But, on the other hand, Luke was practicing the ways of the Force, and one of those standards was balance, so he didn't see it as a necessity to fit a mold, especially if the norm would only prolong fighting and get in the way of any diplomatic negotiations..."

"Good for Luke." I commented. Ken stopped talking, immediately. I saw him straighten, then his head slowly turn and his eyes bore right into mine.

I should have probably stopped talking, earlier. From the look Ken was giving me, which slowly changed from wide-eyed with surprise to a baleful glare, which darkened his whole face from it's featured fairness to a twisted anger, I could tell that he had realized I'd been manipulating him. In it's own way, I was pleased that he'd realized it, if only because I knew I'd sent the message I'd wanted. A message that I was the one in charge.

Of course, as the two of us stared at each other, something else occurred to me – as little as I knew about Ken's background or what was going on in his head, I was fairly confident on one thing: Not only had Ken wanted Skywalker, but he'd also been rejected and pushed away. More than that, but it still haunted him – just like me, he was still obsessed, and still enamored and unable to do anything about it.

Granted, I didn't have much evidence to point me to it, but I didn't need it – my experience gave me better insight into just a little bit of Ken's behavior than any hundred thousand of his little notes or scientific trial and errors could have told him about myself.

"Victor..." Ken started. His voice was surprisingly soft – softer than I think I'd ever heard, unless he'd been putting up a front of being calm and cool when I was trying to intimidate him. But his anger and passion were in the forefront of his voice – it trembled and jumped, and I could just smell his tension. That, alone, was worth it.

"And you call me a coward for running away from my problems." I sneered. At the very least, I didn't flee from the entire planet and find a different solar system, entirely.

Ken hit me squarely in the face with his textbook. I let him. Now, it was very obvious from the look on his face that I'd gotten to him.

"I don't feel like watching anymore." Ken snapped at me. I heard him stamp up the stairs and then a slam from a door on the upper floor.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Ken avoided me for several weeks after that. I found glasses in the refrigerator with chilling blood in them, but it was never enough, and I would be out of the house, finding other victims to slake my thirst and satiate my appetite. If Ken knew, he said nothing, and I didn't care.

Why should I have cared? It was nothing to me if Ken wanted to leave, and what did I care about the Humans I fed on. Things could go back to the way they were. I would be unhampered, in control of my own destiny, not needing to care about the little bastard – either if he was here or not – and I could do what I was used to doing.

That was what I told myself. Then, as soon as I'd thought of it, I couldn't help but think 'What would that be?' Even worse, the question went through my mind in Ken's voice.

The trouble was, in the end, I couldn't think of an answer. What would I be used to doing? My usual routine, I supposed – go out, peruse bars and clubs for victims and potential partners, feed, do whatever I felt like, return home before the sun rose. And then what? As much as I hated to admit it – and I didn't, except to myself – but Ken had grown on me. I could just hear him laughing at me, or mocking me, for any of my choices in activities. His obsession with exploring, with investigating, with picking through music and art and history and science and feeling the need to relegate his findings like a child showing off a newly learned skill... it had become so commonplace for me.

I would miss it.

Realizing this fact bothered me. I didn't want to miss him. It was a part of my control that had never slipped over the years – these things always had handled themselves, before, either because any other person would always want to submit to please me, or because I would never be bothered about just taking that control back.

I didn't know how to, in this case. Ken could match me, easily, in a contest of strength, and he was immune to any powers the Dark Kingdom granted me. I could try using this new leverage, but I didn't know how... and, either way, whenever I tried to speak with Ken, he never responded.

Being ignored had never bothered me – mostly because I was always fairly confident it was just an act – but Ken had it down to a precise science. Almost an art form, even.

I didn't admit this, either – except to myself.

I found a different way to get back at Ken the next time he brought over his friend. It was simple enough – I hovered close enough to the room they did their homework in, in between rounds of some video game based on the movies and show they both watched. I pretended not to care, pretended that I was uninterested in what they were doing, pretended to leave the house for the night like I had done the last few weeks.

Then, when Peter left to return to his own home, I approached him. A block from the house. Ken wouldn't bother watching that far without actually being present.

"Oh. Hi." He was fair enough looking – dark hair and green eyes, the barest stubble around his lips and pockets of acne under his jaw and on his cheeks. Awkward, but as though he might grow into something more palatable, like a child just growing into his manhood.

"Headed home?" I asked, stuffing my hands into my pockets. Peter gave me a cursory glance, as though uneasy about something.

"Aren't you that roommate of Ken's?" He responded. I chuckled. So, Ken had told him we were roommates, had he?

"Something like that, yes." I fell in step beside him, "I'll walk with you."

Peter deliberately took longer strides. I strode right after him to keep up. The glow from the streetlights hummed and flickered as we passed under trees and moths flickered around them.

"Ken told me all about you." That, I doubted. Ken had kept his promise up until now, and even if he had, he'd acknowledged that few would believe it.

"Has he, now?" I grinned, presuming something else. Peter continued to frown at me, his expression half-masked by the shadow of telephone poles as they went by.

"He says you think you're some kind of vampire." He paused, then gave a very effeminate gesture and deliberately lisped his next words, "A _sparkly_ vampire."

That seemed a bit more like Ken: Deliberately baiting and a cheap shot.

"Don't believe everything you hear." The answer seemed to be continuing to treat this like a joke. For all that, Peter seemed to be determined to keep glaring at me.

"I'm not stupid, you know." Actually, I thought he was quite stupid, but I didn't need to mention that, "Ken says you two are just roommates. But I've been watching you – you're something else, aren't you? He's just making excuses for you because he's scared you'll punish him, isn't that right?"

Oh, THIS again. The first time, it had been Paul's overprotective mother, so of course I let her live. This boy, on the other hand, would only become a very intrusive nuisance. And I had no obligation to Ken to spare his friend.

Around the corner, one of the lamps was burnt out. It was dark enough, and the street was empty. I pulled Peter by his wrist against a tree trunk, the covered his mouth with my other hand. It would be quick and simple, and then, it was just a matter of hiding the body. The only thing that bothered me as I prepared to lean in and bite was that Ken would obviously figure it out, and, as much as I didn't care if he knew, I was still leery of his lightsaber. But that could be dealt with.

I had to pause, though, as my lips brushed against Peter's throat. Instead of beating warmly, like most other people's, his skin was searing hot. It burned against my lips, and there was a jolt that ran through my mind, like a needle being inserted into my head right between my eyes. I recoiled, releasing Peter as I backed up. Without even biting, I could tell that trying to drink Peter's blood would cause me unbelievable pain, possibly even poison me.

Peter didn't run, but he stood there, glaring at me. I could only assume that he thought I'd just tried to attack him, and that was enough.

"I knew it – you're the reason that Ken's always busy at night, or why he's always nervous around me an' the other guys, and why he never wants to go out on dates, even if one of us tries to set him up with a girl! It's because you've ruined him!" Peter was pointing at me. His whole arm was shaking. It was annoying – unlike Ken, who'd always been perfectly poised and calm, seeing Peter try to sound intimidating and fail so miserably offended me.

"We're nothing like that. I'm not his type, and he's too young for me, anyway." I'd never thought being accused of things like this would annoy me, but the fact that I had done nothing to Ken really did aggravate me more than I would have thought.

Peter snorted, disbelieving.

"Then why's he always wearing long sleeves? Even when it's hot out and the whole school's A/C is out and everyone's gone sleeveless, he's always wearing turtlenecks and long pants. Why else unless you keep beating him?"

This was something I couldn't answer. I don't think I'd ever even seen Ken's whole arms, bare. The most I'd seen was up to his elbow when he rolled it back so I could feed, and even then, I'd seen something on that.

"I don't know – he was doing that before he moved in with me, anyway. Maybe he burns easily. Maybe he's got a drug problem. Maybe he just likes them. Ask him, if you want. I don't care." I snarled back. Peter didn't look convinced in the least, but what did that matter to me?

"I think I can walk myself home." He finally managed. His voice shook so badly, and he reeked so strongly of fear that I wasn't in the least bit fooled, but I let him walk away – after all, what could I hope to gain from following him? I couldn't make him into one of my victims, not when he was outside of my influence.

I remained where I was, watching him disappear down the street. What particularly disturbed me was that he was being protected by someone. Possibly the Dark Kingdom, except I couldn't think of any reason this boy would be worth it. A priest like Brahms would make sense – I was no stranger to them using churches and their folk as pawns. But there was nothing exceptional to this boy. It would make more sense for one of their agents to use Ken.

Wait... what if Ken was how Peter was being protected? I'd seen Ken use his own powers – now that I was familiar with his background, I suppose that was Ken using the Force – to fight back against me. Who wasn't to say that he could use that power in the similar way as the Dark Kingdom might protect their agents or – it turned my stomach to think of it – the way Joshu's God had protected him from me?

And even if it wasn't Ken using his powers, I knew for a fact that he'd been researching and experimenting with vampire physiology, and that I'd certainly given him motivation to want to get back at me in some fashion. What better way to shove his power in my face than use his findings to make a friend of his impervious to a vampire attack, like myself? Just to show me he could, in theory, make it impossible to for me to feed, and then leave me to wonder how he did it.

Somehow, that made my stomach writhe more than the idea of Ken using his powers to do this. It was as though, just by existing, he was able to have control of powers that I'd never even dreamed of – again, like something that just didn't even seem natural. Just the same as Joshu, who had been able to do things I had never been able to even conceive of and all of it would stem from some kind of power that only he had access to, and my own inability to understand or match him infuriated me.

Wait, no... what was I thinking? Comparing the two of them, again, was absurd. To say Ken reminded me of Joshu was just that – it was a reminder, but he wasn't even close to being similar. I might as well say I saw reminders of Joshu's face in about any Arabic boy I ever saw. I could just as easily say there was a similarity in his strength in any athlete I caught stretching his legs or flexing his muscles. I would hear similar notes of Joshu's voice in other people. Reminders. Similar traits.

...So what was it that made me see so many infuriating reminders in Ken? What made it so impossible for me to not see it? What made it more than just seeing things that were so easily replicated from person to person?

I returned to the house in bad temper. Ken was already asleep on the couch, where he always was as though it was his own private sanctuary. The lights in the room were off, leaving only the light from the streetlamps and the moon streaming in from the window. He was just so real, so human, so flawed. I could think of any number of ways that I could somehow manage to bend him to my will, just like any other person on the planet. Of course, the minute I thought these up, there would be some little doubt that nagged at me, wondering if he didn't have some other trick up his sleeve to fight me off, or to make me wonder if I even wanted to try it.

Still... while he was sleeping, I did wonder about just satiating part of my curiosity. Even sleeping, Ken wore long, black sleeves and pants, completely covering every inch of his body, and I'd never even given it any thought. But it did now strike me as a first – someone whom had caught my attention that I'd never actually seen. I circled the couch and knelt, letting my hand hover over his shoulder, able to feel the heat emanating from his body. It was the same heat I felt from Ken whenever I drew close enough to feed on him, or try to wrestle him into submission, but it was the same kind of heat I'd felt from any other person I'd ever fed on or touched. There was nothing different.

My fingers found the row of buttons on his shirt – silver little buttons with Celtic knots embellished into the metal – that he'd fastened all the way to his collar. The black cotton was thickly woven, as though Ken expected to be in the cold all day. I undid the first, not surprised to see a black T-shirt under this one, then the second, and a third.

Ken's eyes opened. I froze, then jolted backwards as he sat up, slowly and sluggishly. It was as though he were moving through water and was fighting just to stay upright.

"Tha's right." He mumbled, promptly resting his face in his hand as he slumped forward.

"What?" I demanded. This was some unusual behavior – and when Ken was unusual, I'd learned that he had a purpose for it.

"Yeah, you're good. It's fine, right." Ken replied, almost incoherent when he slurred his words. I leaned back in, looking into Ken's half-open eyes. They didn't follow me, like they usually did, and his pupils were unfocused.

So, he was just sleepwalking, then. I wanted to laugh at my own paranoia. It was amusing, but nothing threatening. I reached back for Ken, intending to keep behaving as if he hadn't even sat up.

Thus, I was even more spooked when Ken's arm shot out and his hand clenched around my neck. It didn't even seem like it should be possible – Ken's hands couldn't possibly be that big, and yet, here he was with his fingers tightly circled around my throat. With a strength I'd never seen Ken use, he stood. He pulled me up, with him. He pulled higher. His arm went higher. I went higher. My feet left the floor and Ken raised me completely into the air, over his head. Somehow, the higher he lifted me, the taller it seemed he became, the more natural this position became for his arm to raise to.

I glanced down, this time able to see Ken's eyes fully open and completely focused on me. His face was sharper, somehow. I wouldn't say it had changed, but I felt something else radiating out of him – like on the first night, how he'd seemed so fresh and new compared to the other inhabitants of Earth. This was a completely new face that I was seeing, now that I'd gotten used to Ken.

"Hello, Decimus." Ken spoke. His voice sounded a full octave deeper. It was the most peculiar thing I'd ever experienced. I might have found this new persona – and the new appearance it seemed to give him – intriguing, if he hadn't been squeezing my windpipe shut with his thumb.

One of my hands tried to pry his fingers loose, but my other hand groped for his face. For whatever reason, it seemed to be impossible, as though my arm shortened in length the more I tried to reach out.

"You can stop that – I don't intend to destroy you, just yet. And I don't plan on such an unpleasantry if it can be avoided." Ken's new voice rang through my skull like the tolling of a church bell as if I were the ringer. It made my head shudder. Any sensation I had of my body seemed to fall away, as though my head and neck were connected through nothing but cords, "And whether it can be avoided is entirely up to you."

Ken's thumb eased it's pressure, just enough for me to gasp for a few words.

"Who are you?" I didn't need to guess for this – I'd seen possessions before, and there was every sign of Ken being possessed by someone. Who it was, if they were my enemy, who had sent them – those were the questions that made me anxious.

"If you ask Ken, I'm sure he'll address me as 'Mister Triclops'." He replied. That gave me no information, but it was also apparent that this person wasn't going to answer any more questions from me, "But that's not your concern. I'm only here to prove a point: That I don't make idle threats."

Ken's arm flexed and Triclops threw me clear across the room, as though I were nothing more than a figurine made of paper. My back hit the bookshelves and rocked the whole piece to tumble down on me. An ordinary human would have been crushed, but it did little more than shake me, and even less than the fact that I was overpowered so easily.

I would have pushed the bookshelf off of myself, were it not lifted off before I could steady myself. This time, for once, Triclops pinned me, not giving me a chance to try and overpower him.

"Now that we understand each other, know this..." His voice was low and deadly, and he'd sculpted Ken's features into a menacing glare – one that I hadn't seen since the first night, "If you touch my son, I will kill you."

I looked back over my shoulder, just in time to see Ken slump to the floor. Shaking myself free from all the piles of books, I finally managed to extract Ken from the mess and lay him back on the couch. He was sleeping, this time, as though my encounter with Triclops – whom, if I wasn't misunderstanding, was Ken's father possessing his body – had never happened.

It added a completely different layer to this situation. And, since I was at enough of a disadvantage, already, I promptly picked up Ken's computer and decided to do everything I could to change that.

A/N: Holy crap. I haven't updated since 2011. I've got to get this in. Oh well, at least it's a long chapter, right?

...Right?


	6. Chapter 6

In My Blood

By Sapadu

Chapter 17

Ken

It was the strangest of things, but for weeks, beyond my understanding, Victor just... left me alone. Just... inexplicably. He didn't harass me while I was reading my books, doing my homework, listening to my music... No unwelcome touching, no comments, I don't think he so much as looked cross-eyed at me, even when I would bare my throat for him to feed.

For the first few days of this, I brushed it off as Victor being in one of his moods, or maybe having something personal that was none of my business. But it was confirmed, beyond any doubt, when I next invited Peter back over to listen to some vinyl copies of a BBC radio drama... and Victor did absolutely nothing. Even though I could practically smell the animosity in the air – with scowls the two of them kept sending, if they weren't itching to rip each other's throats out, I'll eat my shoes.

But, as much as it baffled me, as little as I understood, I certainly wasn't going to complain.

So, while I was trying to work it out with the little information I had – after all, asking or prying for more information at this point was liable to break whatever spell Victor was under and I was by no means in any hurry to go back to normal – I enjoyed the new freedom and went about my life. After all, with Victor no longer bothering me, I didn't have to worry about getting enough sleep or not aggravating him so I could make it to class the next day.

It turned nasty, and not because of Victor, in one of my classes. An afternoon class called 'Politics in History', with a focus on the reasons and political philosophy behind major conflicts in history, usually involved us reading books on major wars and writing papers about why one country would invade one, but not another, and why some countries would intervene and some wouldn't. But this day, the professor wanted to talk about a current conflict, one that I had mostly ignored because I'd had my fill of war and politics back home.

And, really, why should I be interested in some invasion into a country that I had never heard of? I'd mostly just shrugged at the idea – I wasn't part of these politics, and I probably never would be, since I didn't legally exist on this planet, and, thus, would never be able to vote or anything. Let the people who were real citizens of this planet worry about their own problems. It had nothing to do with me.

I didn't say any of this as the professor led the discussion. Nor as any of my fellow classmates said any of their parts or thoughts. I mostly focused on reading my book about the various different empires and invasions. And whenever another student acquaintance would try to broach the subject, I could only give non-committal responses – after all, my cover was that I didn't remember anything about myself, so how was I supposed to remember enough to know that I wasn't born on this soil?

Different empires. Not my history. It felt more like I was reading something from an elaborate story than real history.

I might have been okay if the professor hadn't pulled out a slide-projector and showed photos of the fighting taking place in that other country. Photos of soldiers in their jeeps with their armor – clownish and silly, to my eyes – of enemy troops, equally unarmored and exposed to the elements, of cities that had been bombed, of civilians in refugee camps as their homes were burning...

And then... it was just one photo but... the bodies...

And I...

_Something smelled like smoke – like the smoke from superheated plasma burning flesh and cloth._

even though the classroom had been mopped with lemon-smelling Lysol

_A blast from two blocks over was loud enough to almost deafen._

nobody was even talking over the professor – half of my other classmates were nodding off in their seats

"_Kendal!" That sounded like Mister Triclops' voice. And he sounded hysterical – his voice rose in a chorus with other parents' voices, looking for their children, "Kendal!"_

a girl sitting next to me was texting something on her phone, each key beeping as she pressed it like a poorly written melody

_The remains of a ship were burning – the flames were blue, from the oxygen tanks – which had belonged to one of Miss Kendalina's patients, a sleek young Twi'lek woman who'd decorated her medical ID bracelet with precious stones._

the picture seemed so blurry, like I couldn't even distinguish where one body ended and the other began, which limbs belonged to whose body, how badly they were even mangled, or what kind of injuries they'd suffered, however they could have gotten them...

_That same medical ID was in full view – count the stones on the chain, one, two, four, seven, ten... – and still attached to... to..._

The next thing I knew, I was in a stall in the restroom being violently ill. My face felt cold, like my sweat had frozen around my ears and on the back of my neck. I could feel the hairs standing on end on my arms.

"Gray?"

I had to brace myself against the wall – my vision wouldn't stop swimming, and it was like everything from shoulders up was trying to float into the ceiling like a helium balloon.

_Guess you're not as tough as you thought you were, huh?_

"Hey, Gray!" And someone was shouting. It felt like the words were small and plastic – if my meaning by that is clear. For being shouted, the sound just felt so weak and flimsy. Then again, my head felt like a balloon lined with lead that had then been inflated with hydrogen gas.

I'd really honestly thought – just for a second, but... – that I'd gone back in time. That I was back on that planet. The memories of the exploding buildings, being blasted apart by Isard's troops, the chaos of the civilians trying to find shelter or defend themselves, all so vivid.

"Gray! Hey, Gray, open the door!" Now, that someone was pounding on the door to the stall. Why? Was it locked? I didn't remember locking it, but I didn't remember running into this stall to vomit. I didn't even remember how I excused myself from the class – if I'd even bothered with an excuse, or if I'd just stood and bolted.

I rather doubted it, given that my knees were now shaking so hard that I dropped to them and had to lean against the wall to catch my breath. My lungs just didn't want to cooperate – each mouthful of air was so cold that it burned it's way down my throat.

"Dammit, OPEN the DOOR, Gray!" And why were they still shouting? And still pounding? What did they expect me to... oh, wait... Gray. That was my name while I was on Earth. I'd forgotten.

I tipped over and propped my shoulders up against the wall. Enough support to reach the lock on the door and slide it open. The person – man, obviously – was another guy from my class. A punk kid with his hair bleached and three hoops through the cartilage of his ear – high pain tolerance – and a spiked collar around his neck, with the tiniest edge of red peeking over it – had a date last night, someone about one-hundred and sixty-seven centimeters. His T-Shirt looked ragged, but had a logo from a high-end retail store stitched in the corner – had money, or at least his parents did.

I had to blink a few times to realize I was overanalyzing him – like I'd become hyperaware of my surroundings...

"Jesus, what were you doing?" He demanded. My intelligent response was to continue blinking at him, as though I hadn't understood him, "...The teacher stopped lecturing. Are you coming back or not?"

Of course, this punk kid didn't actually say 'the teacher'. Meh, whatever.

"Probably not." I managed to respond, "I'm staying here... just in case."

There was no just in case, but it got him to roll his eyes and leave. I had to fumble with the door to the stall to make it close and lock it, again. If nothing else, I wanted some privacy to think about why, even though I knew this planet was far away from my galaxy, and it's wars, even though they had nothing to do with each other, even though this had all happened by coincidence – from my arrival on Earth on out – why did any kind of war here remind me of the things I saw back home?

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

By very bad luck, I ran into Peter on campus as I was stumbling back home. He, being the great friend he was, immediately demanded to know why I looked like...

"Someone sucked the blood right out of your face." ...Yeah, that. And, of all the times he might say that to me, it WOULD be the one time Victor had nothing to do with how bad of a shape I was in.

...It was starting to really irk me that, even this one time, Victor wasn't responsible for the shitty shape I was in.

So, focusing on a convincing lie I could tell Peter, I shrugged.

"Something I ate." Almost immediately, I could tell that he didn't believe me, but said nothing about it. It was the best I could do – the other option was to make up a history for myself, which was automatically out, since I'd told everyone I'd met that I had no memories.

"Really?" He demanded, "That's all, and it's not...?" His eyes dropped down to my arms – or, more specifically, my sleeves.

...What the kriff was he staring at my sleeves, for? I was about to walk away, maybe with an excuse, maybe not, before Peter put a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, do you want me to walk you home?" It was actually an odd request – one that I was unused to enough that I didn't have a reflexive response, so when I didn't answer, Peter continued, "Is your roommate gonna be there?"

From the way Peter said 'roommate', I was again reminded of the animosity between him and Victor. Which probably also meant that he was going to especially insist on following me home, even if I said I didn't need an escort. Really, what did Victor ever do to him that...?

Wait. I glanced back over my shoulder, not believing how naïve I'd been.

"Victor's never at home during the day. And even when he is at home, he mostly leaves me alone."

Again, that look of disbelief. I considered – either I could beg off and pretend to be sick for the rest of the day, and Peter would come by and potentially run into Victor after classes, which would only mean WORLDS of fun for me; or... I could give Peter an inch and he would stop worrying about me until we bumped into each other, tomorrow.

_And why do YOU care what HE thinks? All the two of you have in common is you like the same comic books and a class about religion._

But... he was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in a long, long time.

_Yes, Marcus from your old job didn't count. He was just an annoying coworker who dragged you out to bars because he was worried about you and made you have a good time for your own damn good. Totally not a FRIEND. _And who I didn't talk to, anymore, now that...

Right, calming down. Focus, Ken, focus.

"...I would like a quiet place to think, right now." I murmured, in what was hopefully a 'You know any?' tone of voice. Immediately, Peter changed his attitude.

"Follow me." He used the hand on my shoulder to steer me in a different direction that, after ten minutes led to a church. Oh joy. "Always helps me when I need somewhere quiet."

Not that I could fault him on that logic. I ducked under Peter's arm, holding a heavy, thick wooden door open, and made a beeline for the nearest pew – apparently, the ten minute walk had been more than my still wobbling knees could handle. Even though the seat was tiny, as though intended for a person who weighed less than forty-five kilograms, it was still a relief to sit in it and lean against the solid, unyielding wooden back. Not the ideal place to sit if you have a tendency of falling asleep when you sit – but, I suppose, that was the point.

I also did have to hand it to Peter – this building was impressive. The insides were all white and hollow, like the ribcage of some enormous mammal's carcass, cool and elegant. The ceiling reached a peak in the dome, ribbed with pillars that ran down in sixths. It was sleek and graceful, on it's own, but to add to it, there were long windows stretching to the ceiling, and the light that flooded in from them was colored by the pictures sculpted by the tinted panes of glass.

And, just like the other churches I'd visited on Earth, it was so quiet. It wasn't a lack of sound – no, there was plenty of that, and this one having hard walls of stone and plaster made the echo bounce even harder – but some kind of otherworldly silence. Like there was some other kind of sound, one that you weren't even aware of until it's absence, that had ben removed at the door.

Not much else to do except sit and think. And somewhat try to understand why my head was still spinning.

Peter thudded down, next to me – right next to me, as I could feel the heat emanating from his football-kicking legs and smell his body spray – and I could hear the pew creek as he leaned back and put his weight on the joint.

"...Hey, Ken..." He started. I didn't give him an immediate answer – I was still breathing in the atmosphere of this place. I still wanted to be quiet a little longer, "...Do you believe in God?"

What a question.

"Why do you ask?" I shot back. I didn't see the look on Peter's face to that.

"...Well..." He stammered, "...We're here. Thought it was a good time to ask."

He said it as though it were a question that just HAD to be asked. Yeah, I can see that showing up on job applications and dating resumes – name, age, sex, schooling history, do you believe in God?

"No." Peter hummed in response to my answer. Whether it was a happy response or an unhappy response, I couldn't tell, nor really bring myself to care.

"...Were you ever Catholic?" Was his next question. Again, because he just had to ask this question.

"Pete." I said, simply, "I don't remember pretty much all of my childhood." Though, really, I was starting to wonder if maybe Peter had started to question this story – if maybe he was wondering if I hadn't regained even some of my memories or if I'd ever forgotten in the first place.

Of course, this always made me happy that psychology was so much more complicated and that memories weren't, as a matter of fact, like holorecordings or audioclips that were recorded and set in permanency. It made the excuse of amnesia so much easier to hide behind.

"I could have been indoctrinated into a Satanic cult at birth by Transylvanian gypsies who kidnapped me from my cradle, for all I know."

I heard Peter huff.

"...Do you believe in a personal God?" He finally asked. This made me open my eyes.

What. The. Kriff?

"...Like, do you believe in a God that is a real, actual person – with consciousness and a name that we must not speak... or in God as more of a spiritual sense, as a kind of energy or a force, like the Brahman in Buddhism... you know, like the Force, from Star Wars?"

"You know, the Jedi jokes are getting really old!" I finally snapped, turning to shoot Peter a glare, "They weren't even that funny the first time." And, really, that was the truth. It had been no small secret that I was 'somehow' connected to the Star Wars fanbase – given how much I knew, because it was, after all, my karking CULTURE and HISTORY these films were about, other nerdly types around the college had pegged me as a closet geek – so I'd heard more than a few 'May the Force be with you' jokes or quotes from the films – weren't even accurate, since Luke was really WAY more polite than the dialogue in the movies and Captain Solo was WAY ruder – and it had been bad enough coming from strangers, but Peter... it was just too much.

I saw him flinch away. That alone was a little satisfying.

"Okay... Jesus, just asking."

Peter didn't say anything more to me – we just sat there for a half-hour, in complete silence.

Honestly, I was kind of glad for that, too – because, if I were to consider his last question as asking me if I believed in the Force...

...I honestly couldn't say I was sure, anymore.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I got back to the house later that evening. Peter had left me in the church – guess I'd really hurt him more than he'd let on with my own explosion at his question – and I'd walked home on my own. Now that I thought about it, I really did feel pretty rotten for snapping at him like that – Peter was my friend, and he didn't know my history with the Force. He couldn't be blamed for a little harmless teasing.

Now, if it had been Victor...

Victor...

_Because you've never taken a cheap dig at Victor for being a vampire, or a Roman centurion, or being in love with someone who was elevated to a religious icon in this planet's history._

Wow. Now, I felt especially rotten.

I dug the cellphone I'd used for the last few months out of my pocket and opened a window to send a text message and quickly tapped out:

_Sorry I snapped today. Bad mood. Lunch tomorrow?_

A few minutes passed before Peter answered:

_OIC. kk cu_

Oh, Peter – just because you were limited to one-hundred and twenty characters didn't excuse THIS kind of bad spelling. But it was a relief, all the same.

And, now that that was out of the way, my mind trailed back to Victor.

Cheap shots...

Now that I thought about it, baiting me for being a Jedi or taunting me about using the Force as some kind of hokey, superstitious bullshit and then comparing it to the 'Controlling self-righteous bastard' he referred to as Christianity's God... that sounded exactly like something Victor would do, just to spite me.

_And you've never done the same thing to him? You're just as bad – an eye for an eye._

And thinking like that...

I really was just as bad as Victor. Be it my absolute confidence that nobody on this planet could hurt me – what, guns? Knives? People three times my size and twice my weight? Pfft, that was a joke where I was concerned – or the feeling of my own intellectual superiority – well, it WAS true! I'm not going to apologize with this, when I was fairly confident that there were few people even on Earth who could effortlessly slice into a government's database or breeze through advanced statistics without batting an eyelash – or the disdain I felt for anyone who just couldn't understand how pathetic they really, really were – and, really, who did ANYONE on this planet think they were fooling? They weren't interesting, they weren't smart, they weren't invincible...

Just like Victor would say.

The worst part was that it wasn't just that I was as BAD as Victor – it was the similarity, at all. Even if I wasn't AS arrogant as he was... the fact that I had any arrogance to my name, at all...

It made me feel sick. So inexplicably sick that I couldn't stand it. I was BETTER than that.

_You're not better, Ken – you're bad. Bad to the bone. Bad to the core. It was BORN in you._

"Shut up."

_You can't change the way you are. No matter how much you wish, how much you try._

"Shut up!"

_It's a part of you – just as much as that stubborn pride of yours, or the gray in your eyes, or the blood in your veins._

"SHUT UP!" I heard myself shouting, but I didn't realize that I'd turned to smash my head against the wall until I heard the plaster crack and felt a stabbing pain rip through my skull.

Oh... that was unpleasant...

Note to self, Ken: Don't bash your head against a... wall...

Chapter 18

Victor

I was surprised to wake up and find Ken in the hallway – cellphone in hand – passed out on the floor. Stranger sights had met me over my existence, but this truly did puzzle me. How had this happened? Why? How could Ken ever be so careless as to let something overcome him like this? Why did he have his cellphone out? What had happened to him?

I didn't bother with these questions and simply kicked him to the side of the entryway so I didn't keep tripping on him at my comings and goings.

It had been three weeks since my encounter with – what I could only assume was – the spirit calling himself 'Triclops' possessing Ken's body and threatening me with bodily harm if I so much as touched his son. My immediate response had been to use Ken's computer to look up any information on Triclops. If I was going to have to fight with this person – an angry father intent on protecting his son, and that was assuming he hadn't just bluffed – I wanted to know more about who I was dealing with.

It had done me little good – the most results I'd pulled up on either a band, a company that dealt in information technology, and a character from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.

It had taken a few different tries before I found something plausible – Triclops and a boy named Ken under the Star Wars label. My results had yielded a series of six books, supposedly intended for children.

I'd placed an order three weeks ago. Supposedly, it would be the end of the month before it would arrive. Already, I was impatient. I'd kept my distance from Ken and watched for any sign of Triclops, but as the weeks went by, nothing happened. I waited and watched.

The more I saw, the more of Ken's behavior seemed to reek of someone else's. Oddly enough, that made me even more repulsed of him than before.

Why, I couldn't think.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When I came back the next morning, Ken had inexplicably moved out of the hallway. In fact, he was tapping away at something on his computer. I didn't think it any of my business, and was more than content to let him be.

The problem came the next evening. Ken must have been out with his friend – Peter, who'd also started causing me trouble – because I could smell something spicy reeking from Ken's pores. They usually did go and have something like curry or Thai whenever Ken went somewhere with that problem. When I saw him, Ken shot me a glare, but said nothing until I was in the next room with a book. I had no patience to deal with Ken that night.

"Victor." I looked up to see Ken standing in the doorway. He'd left on the lamp in the other room, bright enough that it made me cringe to look into it, and Ken standing right before it so that I couldn't see his face clearly.

I wanted to snarl at him.

"Why do you want to stay alive forever?"

I did scowl.

"I don't."

"Fine. Exist instead of live, then. It's just a matter of terms, but the sentiment is the same." Ken crossed his arms over his chest, "Either way, you don't want to die or pass on into the afterlife or whatever. I just want to know why."

I turned my back on him and went back to my book. Atlas Shrugged.

"None of your business." I retorted. I heard Ken snort.

"Then, why not just do it, already? If you don't want to go onto the Dark Kingdom, why not just walk out into the sunlight or let someone stake you through the heart and be done with it? It's been two-thousand years. You've got to have some reason to keep going – that, and the fact that you always fight me so viciously whenever I argue with you or do something that you think might be threatening your existence. Why's it so important to you that you stay alive or whatever you want to call it?"

"Why should I let someone else dictate when I decide to go or how long I stay?" Was my response. It was a good answer, I justified with myself. And I was willing to back it up – why should I, after all, go on? Because someone told me to? Because there was something better waiting on the other side? How trite. I was ready to call Ken out on the direction I knew he was going to take this it.

"Ha." I turned and looked over my shoulder to see Ken out right laughing – not even a fake one, but leaning against the doorjamb to support himself, laughing like the mechanism in his brain that worked humor from the seriousness had broken. He was really, honestly laughing – laughing so hard his head tipped back and banged against the frame of the door. His throat arched, just enough for me to see the flex in his veins and the way his larynx rose and fell in time with his laughing.

To be honest, it was a little frightening.

"You're pathetic." Were his first words when he regained his control.

This made me bolt out of my chair and turn to face him fully. Ken was still leaning against the doorframe, like a part of his spine just wasn't able to support his own weight, properly.

"Excuse me?" I demanded, more irritated than anything that Ken had responded like that. I had been ready for any arguments about how great it must be to pass on and finally be at peace or whatever bullshit he'd picked up from hanging out with his new friend – I wasn't stupid, I knew a Catholic preacher boy when I saw one – but this... I didn't know what to make of this.

"You've been around for... for two millennia..." Ken panted, as though he were going to start laughing again, "And the only reason you've been able to come up with is that you just want to spite the various forces around you that are trying to pressure you into moving on and going to the Dark Kingdom... THAT'S the best you can come up with?"

Ken started snickering again, the cackles coming out in breathless gasps and unhinged, broken syllables, before he straightened and looked me square in the eye. He was blocking just enough of the lamplight from the other room that I could see his eyes – there was something in them that made me want to stay at least an arms length away from him. I might have been surprised at the unfounded part of this unease, but I told myself Ken still had that fiery sword on him, and I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't just start swinging it for any reason.

"Victor, I can come up with seven BETTER reasons to want to live forever, off the top of my head." He snapped, the manic grin dropping so quickly I never would have guessed he'd been laughing just a second ago,

"One, for the purposes of history – you, especially, have been around since the Roman Empire. You've seen civilizations fall, and develop, you've seen cities built, you've been around for some of the biggest events in Human history on this planet. There are anthropologists and archaeologists who would give their arms and legs or their first born children to know HALF of what you know about history, and all because you were there for it. You were around to remember – REMEMBER – the battles that made Rome expand into an empire, and then the ones that made it fall – how ASTONISHING is that?

"Two, as a culture enthusiast – you could be there to observe how cultures change and shape the people they live in. You would be able to see, with your own two eyes, how a culture like this country changed from a simple series of colonies, to a nation with it's own identity, and how it eliminated other cultures in order to expand, but welcomed in different cultures to become more diverse.

"Three, an art critic would love to be around as long as you were. Imagine being able to live to see Michelangelo carve David and Da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa, and then, in a few centuries, see Rococo and Baroque art blossom into being!

"Four, a scientist – a KARKING scientist – might be able to go around, easily through the ages exploring every little niche of discovery that cropped up. Even if they weren't particularly brilliant or revolutionary, just to be able to speak with Archimedes, Galileo, Ibn al-Haytham, and then see how many different fields grow out of what seemed so simple, into such wild things as astrophysics, physiology, microbiology, quantum theory, exzoobiology – oh, wait, you don't have that on this planet, do you? – even statistics and computer science!"

Ken paused and drew breath. I saw the skin on his throat flash in the bleeding light, as though it were a snake coiling to strike.

"And speaking of which, five, a mathematician would watch everything change and have a field day with all the ways that MATHEMATICS have changed over the millions of years you've spent on this planet. The different number systems in the different cultures, what it did for art and culture and even languages, how mathematics are used in computer systems when, years ago, computers didn't even exist – hell, I'd even be content to sit back as the years go by and do nothing but compile statistics on population changes, why populations grow at the rate they do while others do not, how it shapes the culture, and what other statistics can be gleaned from that.

"Six, anyone who appreciates LANGUAGE! Victor – you, alone, know HOW many different languages? You know classical Latin, you'd probably be able to work out Ancient Greek, given Latin's roots, and you also had to know the Hebrew language, Egyptian, probably even more languages used in Northern Africa during the occupation of the Roman empire – you speak modern Italian fluently and I wouldn't doubt you'd be able to work out a lot of Spanish, French, or German if you needed to. Any student of linguistics would LOVE to be able to see, firsthand, how languages would evolve and change, what they'd pick up from other languages, and how the slang adapts.

"And seven, a nature lover – A. FUCKING. NATURE-LOVER. Would spend all of eternity able to wander the face of the earth, taking in every, single, solitary ecosystem and natural community – happy, at that, to maybe make a catalogue of all the different species of plants, animals, birds, insects, fish, down to the last, most disgusting of ants or maggots. Or maybe, not even that, but to just bask in it and appreciate how much there is out there."

Again, Ken fell silent. I found myself at a loss for what to say – more because I was still unsure what Ken was expecting from me, and what might set him off.

"Seven, Victor." He whispered, "Just off the top of my head – seven reasons that would be better than your pathetic excuse to continue crawling across the face of this planet like the miserable waste of space that you are." Ken started walking towards me. He wasn't even walking – he seemed to stagger. I wondered if maybe there wasn't something else inside him – some other spirit possessing him at the moment.

"What have YOU done? You don't even care for the world around you – not enough to even notice it, let alone find any joy in it. What would you want to DO with your life?" A crooked grin was spreading back across his lips, "I've even seen the way you go about each night – you're not even drowning yourself in any kind of hedonist pleasures." I opened my mouth to argue, "Oh, you DO things... but how much of that is real enjoyment, and how much is just a mean-spirited bid for power, when all you really are getting out of it is a forced, twisted idea that you're controlling someone? You're not even REALLY enjoying it. You're sleepwalking through every second of this – no better than the mere Humans you scoff and sneer at."

I found myself backing away – again, I told myself it was out of caution, since Ken had proven that he could match me in a fight – but when Ken got close enough, I could see him shaking. Not with fear – there was no fear in him. I could feel it.

"Bullshit." I snarled as best I could. The crap Ken had been spouting really did sound, word for word, like any number of speeches I'd sat through about coming to a 'True Awakening' or bliss or Heaven. All it would take is a substitution of the words, or for Ken to finish his thought. But my throat caught at just the way Ken said them – quavering, but still very steady, as though he had crafted a perfectly heavy statue and was dangling it over my head on an unsteady support beam and fraying ropes.

Ken laughed again, low and quiet. He was leaning in close enough that I could smell his breath.

"You wish I was just bullshitting this." He mumbled, "But you haven't done a damn thing with all the time you've spent alive, save some nasty violence that can't even be used as a history lesson or an insight to the criminal mind. Two-thousand years – you've been alive for two-thousand years, and what have you MADE of yourself? All I see is a freakishly young-looking old fart, whom can't even wrap his head around the IDEA of finding a deeper meaning than just the day-to-day existence. No long term goals, no greater purpose, not even a live for life's sake mission to his existence. In short, you're the most useless, worthless, meaningless, repulsive being on two legs that ever pulled himself out of the primordial slime."

I could have struck him, were it not still for my own personal unease that it would provoke a fight – one that I would not be able to win, given that I would be fighting both Ken and then probably Triclops. I had very much believed that threat, and I wasn't about to test it. The best I could do was slide by Ken, sideways, and act my damnedest to pretend he hadn't gotten to me.

He kept sneering at me. I pretended I couldn't see him – pretended that his insults hadn't gotten to me.

"No wonder." He mumbled. I tried not to listen to him, "If I'd been left with staying with you for the rest of eternity, I would have opted to be crucified, too."

I didn't even bother to stop myself – I backhanded Ken hard enough to smash him into the wall. I understood that he didn't care for me as a person. Maybe in some way, I even respected the way he'd always refused to let me control him – not completely, but the fact that he wasn't afraid of me, just for the spirit of it, was something I admired as a general trait. But this was too far.

Ken slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind where his nose had connected with the plaster. I could see his shoulders shuddering before I heard a muffled, choked snickering. Ken pushed himself up enough that I could see the twisted grin on his face, even as blood trickled from his nose and painted his lips and ran into the creases around his mouth.

"Oh..." He chortled, "Did I hit a nerve?"

I kicked him in the ribs. Blood sprayed from his lips over the floor, but the choking laughter just kept going. I kicked him again, then dropped to my knees to slap his face. Ken's head rolled right back up, his eyes narrowed and looking straight into mine. He wouldn't stop laughing.

He wouldn't stop laughing at me.

"SHUT UP!" I roared, ripping his shirt open and ready to sink my fangs into his chest. I was stopped by two things – the first, that the moment I'd parted the cloth from Ken's skin, his hands reached up and grabbed me by the throat, somehow stronger and more powerful than before.

"Decimus." Ken's voice dropped a whole octave before I realized what had happened, "I warned you."

The second reason was that, before I lost consciousness, the last thing I saw was Ken's bare, pure white chest, marked with dots and lines of scars that seemed unnaturally old.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I opened my eyes and found myself inside my house, as though nothing had ever happened. It was quiet and still – Ken wasn't blaring his music or watching anything on television, the furniture was neat and organized, when I looked at the wall, there wasn't even a trace of blood or even the slightest sign that there'd been a struggle.

Then I fully stood up and looked about. There was nothing out of place in the house – for that matter, there was nothing in the house, really. The furniture was all. No bookshelves, no books, no lamps, no mess of papers or a locked laptop on the table where Ken normally left it. No shoes or jacket by the door.

Everything that Ken had brought into my house was missing. I went from room to room, looking for some sign of where the boy could have gone. I went to the kitchen, only to find that all the cooking supplies and even the refrigerator and stove were gone – after all, what did a vampire need with a functional kitchen? I went upstairs. The phonograph and old records Ken had collected were missing, and even his clothes – anything gray or silver, or at least with some element in them – were gone from the closet.

I stumbled back down the stairs and flung the door open only to find myself cringing back when a burst of the sunlight hit me squarely in the face. I cowered for a moment before realizing it didn't sting. I was in no pain, felt no nausea, and when I pulled my hands away from my face, I could see perfectly fine. It didn't even feel warm – it was almost as though it were an artificial sun of some sort.

I cautiously took a step outside. The front yard before the house was clean and orderly, as though a professional gardener had been through it and trimmed the bushes and mowed the lawn just that morning. I glanced up and down the street, looking for some indication of where Ken could have gone, then tried to leap to the roof.

Nothing. I couldn't even jump – not a little. Instead, I found myself stumbling down the steps and along the sidewalk. No matter which way I looked, something seemed different. I went left – there was no reason not to, but I kept looking around, over my shoulder, waiting for whatever was watching me to come out. There was something there – I could almost feel it.

It wasn't until I'd spent what had to be hours wandering around – even making it to the Inner City on foot – before I realized what was so wrong. There was not a single other person in New Orleans. There were no cars. No signs lit up. No pets. No fussing. It was as though anything alive in the city had just disappeared, for no reason at all.

It didn't bother me – not really – but there was something odd about it. What could have happened to cause it? That, and I realized that with no other people in the city, I was going to go hungry. That was enough to concern me.

I kept finding myself looking up at the sun, wondering why it wasn't harming me when another oddity occurred to me. It had to have been several hours by the time I realized it, but the sun hadn't moved at all. It was still glaringly high noon. I found myself breaking into a few buildings, looking for a clock or a watch, or anything. They were all gone, too.

I found myself picking up a chair in a bar and trying to smash a window with it out of frustration. The glass in the window didn't even crack, as though the stool in my hand was bending appropriately to stop from coming into contact with the glass.

All of this was more than enough that, after a few minutes of realizing that I was trapped here, unable to escape and unable to even do anything about it, I became frustrated enough to go running out of the bar, roaring and chasing after whatever was doing this.

"Come out!" I howled, looking about for something to tear apart, "I know you're there! Face me!"

There was nothing. Not even the sound of wind or my own echo to answer me.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It was another few hours – or, for that matter, it could have been days – before I had any clue what was going on. I wandered the streets, tearing at anything I could find, whether a plant, a door, anything on the street. As if mocking me, nothing even gave to my fingers. I would pick up rocks and hurl them at windows with enough force to punch holes in concrete and never even hear a crack. I couldn't run at the speeds I'd grown accustomed to, I couldn't even move faster than a rough stagger. My inhuman strength was gone, making it impossible for me to pick up anything more than half my size.

I spent so long wandering the streets, howling at the ever-present sun in a spotless, perfect sky, looking for something to vent my rage.

And that was when I saw him.

It wasn't Ken, but at first, I thought it was. It was the same face and hair and eyes, but his body was vastly different – where Ken barely came up to my chin and was scrawny and thin and fragile, this persona was tall and built like a monster. He must have easily towered over me, with broad, powerful shoulders that squared off into long arms with hands big enough to span around my throat.

"Let me go – whatever you've done to me, let me go!" I roared at him. He was just a few paces away, but I couldn't move my feet. Whatever hell he'd put me in that I had none of my strength, nor the ability to even affect anything around me, it had me rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but swear and curse at him.

He smiled, bending Ken's lips into a ghastly smile that spoke of how much power he had over me, and how much he knew it was his to command.

_::No.:: _Without even moving his lips, his voice reverberated inside my head. It was enough to make me shudder, and the image of the Metatron came to my mind – a supposed angel in Christian mythology who spoke God's words to man, when his own voice would destroy mere Human mortals. The moment I considered the comparison, the image of my own body, exploding and then dissolving from the inside out also came to mind. I knew, somehow, that it wasn't just my imagination – it was Triclops letting me know that, if he so desired, he could have the same power over me in my helpless state.

"What did you DO to me?" I demanded. I refused to be intimidated – if Ken's father was going to destroy me, then let him. I would rather cease to exist than cave to this kind of uncouth bullying.

Triclops just kept smiling. No response, whatsoever. If I could have, I would have at least tried to strangle him. Of course, I could also somewhat realize without being told what he'd done to me – he'd told me that if I tried to harm Ken, he'd kill me, and I'd done just that. I could only assume this was some trick of his that was supposed to destroy me.

How, though, I couldn't understand – all it seemed to be doing, so far, was drive me insane. As far as I could tell, time wasn't even passing in this world he'd constructed. The sun never moved, the wind never blew, there weren't even any clocks, I didn't even seem to be growing hungry or tired. All things considered, this wasn't nearly the worst punishment I could have been dealt.

_::Kendal was right.::_ Triclops' voice taunted me, even as he stood perfectly still, not even using Ken's lips to speak. I snarled at him, but he didn't respond this time. I didn't need to hear it – everything Ken had accused me of, of not even caring enough about the world around me to give a shit, was very true. I wasn't going to give this freak that satisfaction.

"You really are the most miserable, maladjusted, maladroit, moronic malady to plague the body and soul of any form of existence." Triclops actually spoke, and it was Ken's voice that he used. It was enough to make my skin crawl, especially how he made it resonate from all around me, like something a million times more powerful than it really was.

"That's easy enough to say when you're controlling everything around here." I hissed. Triclops threw Ken's head back and laughed, the same disjointed, manic laugh Ken had laughed as he'd mocked me.

_::If Kendal were in your situation, right now, he would think of some way to make an hourglass, and when he failed in doing that, he would think of other tests to figure the rules of whatever he was trapped in. You can't do anything but chase your own tail.::_ Triclops kept talking, staring at me and sneering.

"Really? Then, why bother showing yourself? Why even bother keeping me here?"

Triclops continued to smirk.

_::I told you – I don't make idle threats.::_

"And how is this supposed to harm me? All you really threaten to do to me is drive me mad."

"Much madness is divinest sense/ To a discerning eye;/ Much sense is the starkest madness/ 'Tis the majority." Triclops quoted, the same eloquent lilt in his voice as if Ken were spitting out a quote from Aristotle or Shakespeare. It sounded so much like Ken's natural speaking voice that I found myself gaping, before Triclops continued, _::Or, in other words: Life is madness, Decimus – the only question is what form your madness takes.::_

I finally managed to sneer.

"Is that all you can do? Spout trite cliches in my face and hope I'm intimidated?" I demanded, "Where's your power? What can you do but hope that I'll do all your work, for you?" Really, this freak was no better than the pathetic bishops who hadn't had the spine to rule through fear and power, instead controlling their masses with passive-aggressive bullshit.

And Triclops was still wearing Ken's face and still staring at me with a small, calm smile. It didn't even look like a bluff – he was relaxed and assured, and the look in his eyes was cold and malicious and cunning.

It made him look even more like Ken – the way his eyes would gleam when he was plotting something, or the way he would smile when he talked in circles around me until he said enough to tell me that he had everything figured out, and probably more since the conversation started.

That unnerved me, all over again.

"What do you WANT?" My nerve failed me, more because of the silence than because I was unsure what to do.

Triclops shrugged the broad shoulders that obviously didn't belong to Ken, but I couldn't help but associate with the boy's face, now.

_::What, indeed – that is a very good question.::_ And then, he was completely silent. I wanted to shift from one foot to another, or pace, but I couldn't – my legs felt too heavy and thick, as though my knees had fused into an immobile position.

When it became apparent that Triclops was not going to actually answer my question, I asked, again.

"Then, what are you doing?" My eyes could wander, enough that I was able to take in the sheer scope of the world I was in – illusion? Or, perhaps, a vision like those I'd been privy to of the Dark Kingdom or Joshu's Heaven? Or was it just a dream?

_::Or a hallucination? Or a fantasy? Or a phantasm – perhaps I'm now the one whom is now wandering the nighttime scape of New Orleans, casting the shade of infectiously parasitic hunger on the innocent denizens whose slumber is morphed from peaceful to fitful under your watchful eyes.:: _Triclops suggested, even though I had voiced none of my suspicions.

"If you won't answer that, HOW are you doing this?" I demanded. Triclops just smiled and shook his head.

"Then, what are you trying to make me do?" Was my next question, "Are you trying to prove some kind of point to me? Do you want me to beg your forgiveness for laying a hand on your precious, perfect son?" I sneered.

Triclops' smile didn't even falter. It was as though I were speaking to a statue. I shifted one foot, however slightly – enough that I moved forward a step.

"If he's so dear to you, why didn't you stop me, before? Where were you on the first night? How would you have stopped me from throwing him to the ground and doing as I pleased with him? Where were you when I brought him home? How were you protecting him when I could have overpowered him and forced him to submit to my desires?" The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed – in just the last few months, I could think of any number of moments that Ken had left himself exposed to me and I could have done what I'd wanted to him. All the little moments that I could have overpowered Ken and either torn his throat open or made him spread his legs for me, and what had this freak done to stop me?

I ignored all the moments that I'd had the opportunity, but had done nothing – those had been moments that Ken had earned of his own power from me, or that I'd deliberately chosen not to touch him. Triclops had nothing to do with that, I told myself.

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the Earth? Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? Or who hath stretched the line upon it? Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened?" Triclops recited in perfect pitch. I threw myself forward, my fingers clasping at his throat. Just hearing the lines from the Book of Job had been enough to send me into a fury.

"Shut up! Stop using Ken's voice!" I howled, gnashing my teeth in his face. Triclops' face – the face that still wore Ken's features – remained impassive and cool, even as his throat crumbled under my fingers.

And then, it melted, like the surface of a tar pit. My fingers sunk into the flesh of his neck, until the whole of his body liquified and melted into the pavement. I struggled and pulled against it, but my arms were sucked into the formless mass of the ground under my hands and knees.

"And he shall smite the Earth with the rod of his mouth; and with the breath of his lips shall he slay the wicked." This time, Ken's voice came from behind me, and when I looked, Triclops was standing, practically on my heels, smirking down at me.

Still calm, still unmoved, still wearing Ken's face. It was enough to spook me – that he was able to change places and move and utterly, utterly control me...

And it occurred to me.

"...I AM dreaming." I twisted my head enough to glare into Triclops' – Ken's – eyes. They remained as cool and impassive as Ken's had ever been. It infuriated me, to the point that, even if I were at his mercy, I wanted to at least rail in defiance, "Aren't I?"

"Yet, if hope has flown away/ In a night or in a day/ In a vision or in none/ Is it therefore the less gone?/ All that we see or seem/ Is but a dream within a dream." Was his answer.

Still, it was enough that I could at least respond – regardless of what that meant, I just wanted to get some kind of real response out of Triclops. Ken didn't have control of me, and there wasn't any chance I was letting this overprotective, selfish, specter of a father of his...

"This is my beloved son." Triclops used Ken's hand to gesture to the figure he occupied. I didn't need to wait to hear anymore – the image and intent slammed into me with a vicious kind of force.

It was, if not exactly, almost exactly like Joshu's God – his supposed father, the love and protection that Joshu had always professed had been his shield from me... from "Temptation" he would have said. The resistance, the calm assurance, the utter power that the boy had over me... and my own obsession, my own inability to escape him OR control him.

That only made my rage burn, all the more furiously.

"STOP IT!"

Triclops stopped speaking, but the look on his face remained unchanged – and the fact that it was Ken's face just made me all the more uneasy, as though Triclops was trying to remain as every bit as related to Joshu's God as possible – even to the point that he had no Human form of his own, except that of his son.

No, I couldn't think like that. I searched for something to change the topic, something to at least keep in control.

"...You can't keep me in here, forever." I finally managed. Even if all of this was unnerving and had me terrified, I wouldn't let him know it, "I won't sleep forever. Even you can't keep me locked up here, forever."

Triclops' massive shoulders heaved in a mighty sigh. He shook his head, that very same smile on his face as though he were humoring a small child. Then, he looked down, towards his feet. Involuntarily, my gaze followed.

Instead of a road or sidewalk, the ground we stood on had changed into a puddle of water. My arms were still entrapped under the surface, as though encased in blocks of ice and my knees were steadily sinking into it... but, for all intents and purposes, I might as well have been floating on the surface. There was nothing solid under me.

Triclops was still standing. There weren't even ripples around his feet, where he was standing, perfectly still, using Ken's body, behind me.

Before I had a chance to yell or shout or struggle, I began to sink. I could see the entirety of New Orleans, around me – or, at least the vision of New Orleans that Triclops had created – starting to overflow. Water poured out of windows and doors of buildings, and the sound returned to the rush of water crashing against the buildings or structures surrounding us. And, all the while, over my head in the dreamy sky, the sun was still high and bright, with not even a single cloud to excuse the cold.

_::Kendal was very right about you, Decimus.::_ Triclops said. When I looked back, over my shoulder, Triclops had turned Ken's face up, towards the sun, _::You really have no appreciation.::_

I opened my mouth to protest – or demand some answers – but I was sucked under. The water was up to my shoulders, and Triclops continued to rise up with the tide.

"The monster's faded eyes/ Turned slowly to his native coast/ And peace was Paradise!" Triclops murmured, holding Ken's hands out, as though to catch the sunlight and hold it.

I had sunk up to my chin, and couldn't even thrash or flail against it as I was being pulled under.

_::...This is truly a beautiful planet you have here.:: _Triclops mused, _::Whether in calm or in storm – always with a semblance of order...::_

My head submerged. Only my face remained over the surface.

_::Can you not hear it?::_ Triclops raised a giant hand to Ken's ear. Despite the pervading silence that had ruled my occupation in this dream, I could – somehow, somewhere in the background, I could hear the swells of the fourth movement of Beethoven's Sixth Symphony.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When I woke up, I was first greeted by a splash of water in my face, and Ken's anxious, frightened eyes.

I never thought I would admit it, but the sight of his gray eyes was the most welcome thing I could have thought of at the moment.

Chapter 19

Ken

I recovered from Victor's fit by waking up and finding myself comfortably situated on the couch with a blanket tucked around my shoulders. Alright, I'll admit, maybe I'd brought it on my own, kriffing head – egging Victor on like that, and then throwing in a jab about Joshu. I guess, if Victor had taken a shot at me and my (apparently obvious and still raging) crush on Luke, I might have gotten a little pissy, myself.

Still, it didn't explain how I'd woken up on the couch and with no memory of what or how it had happened. Victor couldn't have done it – ha, the day he showed me THAT much consideration on a GOOD day, much less after a fight, I'd join a Catholic monastery – and I had been in no shape to take care of myself...

Come to think of it, where was the old bloodsucker, anyway? When I sat up, I didn't see any sign of Victor. The only evidence that we'd even had an interaction at all, was the faintest stain on the wall in the other room – and faint, it was, as though someone had scrubbed and bleached the floor and plaster.

Yet another oddity, as the Victor I knew wouldn't have touched a broom with... well, a three-meter-broom.

I finally decided to check the basement – as it was the middle of the day – and found him in his coffin, undisturbed and stiff. I even tried to disturb him – I poked at him with a pole, kicked the casket, prodded and pried and Victor didn't even twitch.

Well, honestly, after the week I'd had, I wasn't about to complain that Victor wasn't about to bother me.

I spent the next three days – another thing that I didn't realize until Peter dropped by with a weeks worth of homework, but I'd apparently been out for four days – with the house more or less to myself. The time I spent, it was mostly on recovering, be it refueling from what must have been a nasty amount of bloodloss or trying to figure out what had happened.

By the time Monday rolled around, I was more or less back up to normal. Part of that was because Victor hadn't bothered me for however long it had been, but even that wasn't a decent excuse – Victor had been asleep for the whole week and, honestly, it puzzled me. The fact that I couldn't work things out bothered me – so what if there was a complete lack of data between our fight and the time I'd woken up, that didn't mean nothing happened, and where something happened, there was always something left over to judge from it. With this, there was nothing – no physical evidence, Victor hadn't so much as stirred for a whole week, and I didn't remember anything.

Then, I turned on the television and the program was enough to distract me from all of that.

According to the weather report, New Orleans was anticipated to have a hurricane pass through this region within forty-eight hours. It was being forecast as the worst in the history of New Orleans, with unprecedented levels of flooding and wind-speeds up to one-hundred and thirty miles per hour. Or, in short, everyone in the city had forty-eight hours to get the hell out and take what they could with them.

Because, clearly, my week hadn't been karked up enough, already.

I spent the day going through the majority of what I had in the house. I would have to be leaving practically everything behind – if this was really an emergency, then I had to treat this like...

_All the other times you had to evacuate._

My computer, my lightsaber, and a few, very old copies of books that had been hard to find. Oh, and clothes. Whatever I could fit into the waterproof duffle-bags I'd been able to fish out of the closet. Into a backpack, I stuffed cans of soup, packages of crackers, peanut butter, and granola. By the afternoon, I was out of the house and down the street, following the directions I'd plotted out for the best location that would be safe from the hurricane winds and rain.

Outside, I pulled my jacket – the brown, hooded number that reminded me of Jedi robes, because irony laughs in the face of inattention – closer around me. Maybe it was the winds or the air pressure of having such a massive storm come our way, but I felt inexplicably cold.

At any rate, I refused to consider any other possibility for my chill. Besides, the sky was already dark and heavy with clouds. If I'd been in a poetic mood, I might have called it even an omen of what would come. But, poetic, I was not at the moment – I was much more preoccupied with finding a shelter.

_Like hiding underground, somewhere?_

I pushed the thought out of my mind and caught a bus to the outer city limits. I could find transportation – _or walk, you need the exercise, anyway _– to the destination I'd marked on my map.

By midnight, I'd managed to reach a hilltop church on the outskirts of the city. It was still bitterly cold – especially for New Orleans – and the air seemed unbearably heavy and wet as I breathed it in.

At the very least, the church was unlocked and the tiniest bit warmer than the outside wind. I sank into the nearest seat, grateful that I was at least shielded from the wind and the beginnings of rain. Even thinking of Victor didn't occur to me until I looked up and saw a large, imposing figure of Jesus on the cross, suspended over the middle row of pews. If the wires supporting him had broken, whomever was in those seats would have been crushed – that kind of large and imposing.

Staring up at that kind of a huge representation of the man that had been Victor's One True Love (trademark) in life was, at least, enough to get me wondering if Victor had gotten out of New Orleans. Had he even seen the forecast that the place we were living in was likely to be flooded? Would he even care? Did such things as flooding and hurricane conditions even matter to vampires (apart from the apparent lack of food supply that an evacuated city would provide) or would he even notice that I'd disappeared?

...Why did that last thought actually... kind of bother me?

More questions came through. Had I left the television on enough that Victor would know he was in danger? I knew that I hadn't left any kind of note as to where I'd gone, nor why. Would Victor figure it out from what I'd taken? Would he even bother to think about it? And why did I even give a shit? So, if Victor hadn't taken the hint, and vampires WERE somehow vulnerable to drowning (or, I suppose, hypothermia – I hadn't tested that, yet) and I returned to the house after who knew how many weeks of the hurricane and he'd perished and I had the house and all of Victor's assets at my disposal... So what? We'd already clarified that Victor was a worthless being – not even worthy of my pity, let alone any concern for his well-being. I'D already clarified that I had no reason to think of Victor as anything but... oh, what had I called him? "The most useless, worthless, meaningless, repulsive being on two legs that ever pulled himself out of the primordial slime", I believe I'd called him.

...That was a good insult. I'll have to write it down.

But that was, of course, assuming that I ever saw Victor again. What if I never did? What if he was wiped out with the flood? What if, after this, he disappeared and I never saw him again?

Well, good-riddance. I kind of wanted to say that. I kind of wanted to pretend that I wouldn't care, that it wouldn't just be another person who would come into my life and then disappear, that it was JUST Victor – just some meaningless Earthling on this planet that was so far away from home that I didn't need to care about any of them...

I curled up on the pew, waiting to fall asleep. At least, if I could sleep, I would stop thinking about this. And, oh, I wanted to stop thinking about it...

"Ken..."

I put my hands over my ears – not that it ever helped. Those voices could never be just blocked out by covering my ears.

...Maybe I should see a doctor... but, of course, every time I thought of that, I couldn't help but think that it would be pointless. For one thing, I wasn't a person on this planet – for better or for worse. I had no history, and I couldn't even make something up on that account...

"Ken..."

Come to think of it, whenever I heard that contradictory voice in the back of my head, it never called me by name...

I looked back up – I was planning to look at the giant, suspended crucifix that was hanging from the ceiling – and found myself gazing into a face I hadn't seen in years. The soft, gentle curves around his jaw; the matted, blond hair; the kind, blue eyes...

"...Luke..." I shot up, into a straight, stiff seated position. It was Luke, alright – standing over me, in clean and humble robes of sand and earthen brown, but his posture still as straight and controlled as it had ever been. That strange combination of the steady, obedient figure of a soldier, awaiting orders, with the relaxed, fluid body of a Jedi Master, whom was one with the Force.

I couldn't breathe. Not with the image of Luke's eyes boring straight into mine, like they had when I had still been just a child, when I'd still just been an apprentice, but with him, every moment of every day, when I'd still...

And, of course, at the moment, it occurred to me that Luke appearing before me – and clothed in all the garb of a Jedi Master – like the divinity that he appeared to be before me... if he was... it could only mean that, in all the time I'd been gone...

"...no..."

Luke's eyes remained on me. Not harsh, not judging me, nothing of what I expected... but disappointed. As though I were failing him in some way.

...as though it were a different offense than all the times I actually had...

"Ken..."

I tried to think. What had I done? How? And, more importantly, what could I do to mend it? To repair the breach I'd...

"I would have thought you would be merciful – even to someone who'd done you wrong..." Luke murmured. I could just FEEL his disappointment, as though he were loading it onto my shoulders.

...Victor...

"...Merciful...?" I felt myself choking. I started to pull myself off of the pew, "You... Luke, you don't KNOW this man! He's EVIL!" Luke's expression didn't change. I could hear my own blood beginning to pound in my ears, so hard that it actually hurt and drowned out all the fine, quiet outside noises, "He's killed people – no, worse than that, he's MURDERED people. Innocent civilians, women, children, he's beaten people and raped them and left people to drown in their own blood after he'd fed... Luke, it's HORRIFIC! He ENJOYS it, even – he BOASTED to me about young boys and girls who he made... oh, I can't even SAY it... and I've SEEN him!"

By this point, I was shouting so loud that I don't think I could have stopped, even if I'd wanted to. I probably wasn't even convincing Luke – I wasn't even trying, really.

"He's not HUMAN! He's... he's something WORSE! He's a monster!" I hadn't even realized that I actually thought these things about Victor – or maybe I had but wanted to hold off on admitting it for some reason – before I thought of the perfect word to describe him, a word I'd learned here on Earth, "He's a SINNER!"

But, the more I thought about it, and the more I shouted and railed at an unresponsive Luke, the more I couldn't help thinking that single thought: I hated Victor. I hated everything about him, and I hated him so much that I thought it was all running in my veins – that it might somehow form into solid clots and give me a stroke, it was so potent.

Luke continued to watch me, an undisturbed, tranquil look on his face.

"Why are you thinking these things? Because it's easier to claim that someone is a sinner than it is to believe that even a sinner might not be beyond forgiveness?"

That shut me up – I shouldn't have been surprised by that, but it really did astound me how easily I'd forgotten. Of course Luke would insist that Victor wasn't beyond all hope – for the Force or for his Joshu, or whatever – that he could still be forgiven and redeemed somehow.

Every scoff and retort that I could logically think of boiled in my throat and died – I couldn't argue with Luke. Especially not when I could rethink and rephrase his words and apply them to Vader.

Now, another particularly well-known Sith Lord... I had my reservations, but couldn't quite bring myself to imagine that Luke would say HE was beyond forgiveness, either...

It sat, uncomfortably, in my chest. And the longer I stared into Luke's eyes, the harder it was for me to think of something to say – logically, there was every fallacy in the book I could use to trip his words... but I COULDN'T.

"But..." I finally managed. Luke just smiled at me.

"Nobody is beyond forgiveness, Ken." For a moment, I thought he was going to pat my head and ruffle my hair, like he used to when I was a kid, "Nobody."

The way he emphasized 'Nobody' sent a shiver through my spine, as though he had actually touched me. It hurt to hear – like by accepting it would be somehow accepting a combination of a blessing and a curse, all for myself.

If that were really true...

Really, sincerely, genuinely, honestly, profoundly true...

I put my head in my hands and sank back onto the pew, curling up like a child. I felt small – babyish – hearing Luke's words.

"...I didn't... mean to..." I choked out, "...I couldn't do anything... couldn't change anything... I'm just so weak, I thought..."

I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't going to cry...

"There isn't a single person who ISN'T weak in some way – it's what we rely on to give us our strength that matters."

Shit, I was crying.

It was even worse when I thought about it, because I knew what he meant – just like when Luke had told me about the Force being what gave Jedi their strength. The Force was the Jedi's ally. The Force was what gave us the power to change our destinies. The Force...

The Force... the Force... the Force...

Oh God-DAMN IT! No matter what I concentrated on, my train of thought kept going back to the Force. The thing that had CAUSED all this trouble in the FIRST place, the thing that kept driving me practically to the breaking point of my sanity, the thing that...

The one thing that actually gave me an edge over Victor. That actually made me able to hold my own against him. Once swallowed my pride and admitted it, that's what it had always been. If I'd just been a normal, everyday kid, no superpowers, no special abilities, I wouldn't've stood a chance against Victor – maybe a lucky escape or two, but the minute we were on a first name basis, it was the Force that kept me on level footing with him.

I fisted my hands in my hair, frustrated. This wasn't what I wanted to be – not some pathetic, powerless...

"Ken..." Maybe Luke had put his hand on my shoulder, maybe not, maybe I was imagining things, but the next thing I knew, I was on my knees, holding onto the back of the pew for support.

"...I'm sorry." I choked, "Luke, I'm so sorry... I didn't want to... I never meant any of it, I just... I just wanted..."

I couldn't bring myself to look up and see Luke's face. I didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes – or, for that matter, the forgiveness.

"...I just wanted to be someone worthy of you..."

Luke said nothing for a long time. The whole church was silent – silent beyond normal silence, so silent, I was spared the smatterings of rain and hail on the windows, let alone the lonely howl of the wind. It was as though that little space inside the church was the only real space in the world, a little pocket dimension unto itself.

Then, right by my ear, I heard Luke's voice and felt something warm and heavy rest on my head.

"Your trust in the Force will save you." He said, softly, "Go, and be at peace."

The warmth spread, and I willingly surrendered and sank into it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A/N: Just letting you all know, I went hunting for quotes from the Gospel of Luke for this whole damn sequence. It was damn near impossible, and that's why this stupid chapter took so long, and totally not because I'm a lazy, procrastinating college student with way too many fanfics on her hands.

Oh, and it's also totally not foreshadowing and a hint.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I woke up to the sound and smell of rain and thunder. I sat bolt upright and could just barely see – both because there was no light in the church, and because the sky outside was practically pitch black with storm clouds. There was the rushing sound of wind that, even with the walls of the church shielding me from the worst of it, still felt like someone was squeezing my eardrums and pounding against my head. I was curled up on the pew, my bags piled on the bench, either under my head or on the floor, and the coat I'd been wearing draped over me like a quick substitute for a blanket. Just like I'd woken up after my fight with Victor.

...Victor...

Luke would have wanted me to show him mercy. Well in that case, dammit all, mercy I would show.

The best place I could hope for was to stash the bags with my clothes and food was in the tabernacle under the altar before I took off, back for the house.

It was, of course, pouring enough to make Dac look like a calm, dry place to settle, and it didn't make me feel any better that I could only barely make out the shapes of the trees and the paths between them, let alone which way would lead me back to New Orleans. Along with the whistling of the wind and the near constant rolling thunder, there was the on and off flash of lightning that kept disorienting the little visibility I could gain in the utter darkness.

So, unable to rely on my eyes or ears – or touch, since the cold rain was making my hands and feet go rapidly numb – I did the only thing that I could, sanely, do.

If there was ever a word to describe how I felt, reaching into the Force, it would be 'tactile'. My whole body felt it, as though it were a full body connection. Everything from my skin to my bones tingled, like circulation was being returned to it after a long time.

Probably more accurate than I realized. I hadn't even thought about it, but I'd missed the feeling – how it seemed to melt me back into the world around me, how it was like a lifeline for someone floating just outside the airlock of a ship, no, like the cockpit of a ship in the middle of deep space.

The tingle seemed to yank on my bones, like a magnet drawing me in. All I could do was let my legs bend, going with the flow. It went quicker than I'd thought possible – especially when my feet dragged me down into water. It was so cold and still, and worse, it felt to me the same way a corpse would feel to the touch – it was probably not river water, but overflow from the flooding. I kept wading until I was waist deep and could swim in it, letting the Force pull me in the right direction.

_Funny how easy you adapt, isn't it? Where'd you be now, if you hadn't done this?_

I really had to be losing my mind. There was no other explanation for it – a sane person would not be going back to someone who'd put him out of commission for days. A sane person wouldn't have provoked that same person, knowing they were physically capable of doing serious harm and liable to lash out. A sane person... well, okay, wouldn't be hearing voices, but...

_And when has sanity ever been a factor – this was never about THINKING, this was supposed to be about following what you FELT. If you were sane, you wouldn't be depending on some lamp you duct taped together from different techs – you'd've already used the Force to get yourself out of all of your problems._

Much as I wanted to deny it, it felt natural – from the tingle that ran through my body, to how I was literally swimming in the coldness and how the Force penetrated right through it, even the voice that sounded in my head and taunted and questioned everything I was thinking.

It was like I was some kind of fish, finally dipping back into my natural environment, able to breathe, able to move, like I was meant to.

I held my breath and went under. Completely submerged, I was able to shoot through the water with less of a fight and straight to the front door of the house. Everything felt weightless – no, massless, as though I were cutting through the walls and door with my bare hands, and they were no more solid matter than the freezing water.

Up, breathe, then underwater, again. This time, I went inside, drawn straight to the coffin. I could sense Victor – still trapped in his coffin, still dead to the world. The coffin had floated up to the ceiling of the basement, knocking against the support beams set in the cement. I found myself groping around the room, looking for something to anchor Victor – or, at least, myself.

Then, my lungs started to burn. I had to kick and pull my way back out of the house – the water had risen so high, found myself hovering over the roof by the time I found air.

So, there I stayed for a few minutes, pondering. How long would Victor have, if he wasn't impervious to drowning? How long had he already been under? Was it already...

_Bothering with THINKING again, Jedi Prince? How quaint._

I held onto the roof's gable, breathing in and out in a rhythm. Victor was still, at the least, on this plane of existence – I could still feel it, even if it was a cold, pulseless, unfeeling connection. Even if he wasn't alive, he still wasn't dead. I was used to that feeling.

Right – not panicking, not thinking about if it was too late or not... So, what was the best solution? Maneuvering the coffin would take too long, I'd probably run out of air... and, thinking about it, the roof didn't feel too stable, nor could I really feel my arms or legs too well. And, if I really was thinking about it, I felt sleepy, of all things...

Yeah... I had to get this done with and out of the water before I lost consciousness.

I let go of my anchor and pinched myself with one hand. Had to think. If I was going to get in and out of the house with Victor, I couldn't go through the door. Not to mention that Victor's coffin was likely to get caught against the ceiling... wait...

Holding my breath, I dove again, this time going for the window closest to the ground – it would open up into the basement, and then I could use the coffin's buoyancy to my advantage. I had to kick the window open, then hold myself in place by bracing my shoulder against the window frame.

Y'know, water gets a bad rap. Really, what is it with people and being afraid of water, or being disgusted just at the prospect of getting wet? It wasn't so bad being down here – I actually kind of liked it. Up until my chest started to burn, so much so that I coughed out a mouthful of air.

Oh yeah... this is why people didn't like water.

I made the mistake of opening my eyes and ended up coughing out the rest of my air in pain. This time, I wouldn't be able to go back to the surface and come back down without hurting myself – I stretched into the Force and yanked, as hard as I could, on the uncomfortable spot that was Victor's presence. When I stretched out my hand, I felt the solid wood of Victor's coffin and I was able to pull it out, slowly and surely, until the coffin and I were free to float up to the surface.

When I broke the surface, it was easy to pry the lid off of Victor. His eyes were open and he shot up, grabbing me just as my numb fingers lost their grip on the edge of the coffin.

"...Yeah, you better be grateful." I mumbled, my jaw barely working under the cold.

A/N: And... yeah, it took me for-FUCKING-ever but... I actually got to the meat of this story. And... I'm starting to get invested. And I like working on it, so... tell me what you think? Just normal bad fanfic or actually interesting idea and premise and theme? Lemme know – I'm starting to care.


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